Forbidden to Hate
by wjjmwmsn5
Summary: He watched her. She tried to ignore him. He wanted to unhinge her. She wanted to get away from him. They weren't supposed to love. They didn't want to. It was what they had in common. They thought they were forbidden to love. They were forbidden to hate. Cato/ Katniss. Rated T because it's the Hunger Games.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**A/N: Hello! This is the story that has won on my poll! **

**This will have two POVs: Katniss's and Cato's. **

**Anyway, though they are my favorite couple and I'd die if I didn't write a Catoniss story, Cato's and Katniss's are the POVs I have the most trouble with from characters from book 1 of the original story. So, if the first chapter isn't top-notch compared to my usual writing, I can guarantee I'll fix it quick!**

**And their hate will eventually change, or I'd never write the story! **

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens)_**

**_Opening Ceremonies_**

_You'll be flawless! They'll love you! Oh, you look fabulous! You'll be the first tribute to be sponsored!_ I've been told all of this in the past hour, and I could honestly care less in that department. I don't_ need _sponsors, though I couldn't keep them away if I wanted to, I'm sure. I don't _need _the Capitol citizens' love and care to win. I can do it myself.

Clove and I are told to enter the chariot. She scowls when she sees how close we have to be. I restrain a smile and look forward at the heads of the people from District One. Gleam and Marvel I think are their names.

Gleam and Marvel begin to move in front of us, sending a wave of roars down through the hall. There is a second's pause, and then the chariot before us jerks forward. Clove and I are stuck in time for a second, and then we're yanked into the zillions of watchers' views. They scream and scream. I learn that the girl in front of us is Glimmer, not Gleam, and I was right about Marvel. It doesn't matter. Their names won't matter when I kill them when the alliance is over.

"Cato!" My name echoes in my ears as Clove and I put our hands in the air. Glimmer, ahead of us, is waving frantically. "Clove! Clove! Cato! Cato!" She wants attention, because Clove and I are taking it. I look over to Clove, who is smirking and suppressing a laugh.

We go on like this for a while. Names are shouted. Ours are repeated a lot, more than any. And then everything hushes slightly. So suddenly you couldn't do anything in the moment everything hushed a little bit. I look around. _Who…?_

Two names permeate my eardrums. "Katniss!" and "Peeta!" What surprises me, though, is when I can pick out the district they are chanting around me. "District Twelve!" The first thing that comes into my mind is to not appear like I'm the least bit dazed or surprised, though I am. The second is that they are my targets. They go first, if at all possible. They are to be spared for me. Or, at least, the stronger one is—if one of them is strong at all. The other Clove or someone can have.

We reach the center of the City Circle. President Snow starts his speech, but I don't listen. I know what he has to say. I've heard it before.

Instead, I look at them, just as their flames flicker off quickly, like the way the crowd quieted. The boy looks strong. The girl looks weak. But the girl is a volunteer from _District Twelve_. That _can't_ be overlooked. From someone as weak as her, it won't be fatal to overlook it, but it could very well be harmful. Maybe getting her out of the way could make it simpler.

And I have just the perfect way to do that.

Since I can't kill her quite yet, I will do what it takes to mess her up, so she can't figure me out, so whatever it is that made her volunteer will screw up when she turns it to me. The perfect way to unhinge her is so utterly simple. I can just stare.

So I do. I set my eyes on their chariot and stare. Not glare. Stare without an expression. She glances over at me. I take my eyes away. _Let her think I didn't want her to see me staring,_ I think. _Let her make assumptions._

I look back and she's still staring. Our eyes meet, and hers flit away. I try not to smile, and look to the president as he concludes his speech. "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor."

We start to move again. Soon, we're back in the Tribute Building. Clove and I get off our chariot and Flets—her stylist—Trisdy—my stylist—Adalian—our escort—and the mentors—mine: Brutus; hers: Enobaria—flock us.

"Oh, you two looked great," Flets compliments. I have my eyes glued to District Twelve's girl. "Deadly. Perfect Careers, you two!"

"You did." One of them taps my shoulder. Either Adalian or Trisdy, because of the squeaky, female, Capitol voice. The girl looks back at me. The people from Twelve leave, and my eyes don't move from her. "Who are you—?"

"District Twelve, Cato?" sneers Clove.

"Come on." Brutus beckons us to the elevator. We pile into the giant thing and it shoots straight up, faster than imaginable. It's glass, so I can see down to the people. The elevator doors break apart and we're in our apartment on the second floor. "This is the second floor, kids."

"Kids?" I snap.

"Forget that," Clove says. "What was that about Twelve?"

"Wouldn't you love to know?" I retort absently.

"We _are_ allies, Cato," Clove growls.

"But my strategies could help you," I tell her, starting to walk past her and into the dining area where the rest are heading. "Why should I help you?"

"Because if you help me, it could make the alliance that much stronger, and it's good to keep the alliance strong," she barks.

"Nice theory." I sit next to Adalian. "Not going to work, though."

Clove angrily blows a piece of hair away from her face and sits in the only empty seat—next to me. She takes the knife from her placemat and clutched it like a lifeline. Twelve girl isn't the only one I want to mess with. She's weak, anyway, and Clove is right here, so I can see her reaction all the time.

An Avox brings us an array of food, like the kind on the train.

I've never starved, or had to want food. Not a day in my life, and I would be among the dishonored if I had, which I am not, or I would not be a volunteer. But the foods they have in the Capitol are so delectably new to me. Most, at least. In District Two, we get quite a large amount of foods, even some from the Capitol, since we are somewhat of a favorite district because of our loyalty.

"Listen, I want you two to acquaint with the other Careers, alright? Make them think you wouldn't break the alliance early for the world," Enobaria says. "And then break it early."

"Don't do that," Brutus counteracts. "Stay with them and kill them towards the end. Her way'll get you less sponsors."

"Don't listen to him," snaps Enobaria after hardly swallowing a mouthful of food. "I _really_ honored the district, what with my teeth and all. What did he do? Throw an axe? A spear? Psht. Sponsors will _love_ my idea. Get more drama in there."

It's their first year mentoring together. It's Enobaria's first, period. She's always off in the Capitol. Not like Finnick Odair's always in the Capitol. She does't do what he does, that I know of.

"We don't need help on this," I break in. Brutus and Enobaria stop glaring at each other. "We—well; I am… not so sure about her—are fine."

Clove grips her knife tighter, still having not eaten anything. "He's… right. I can do this. I don't need fancy tips to throw a knife and make my own decisions."

"You sure made one at the reaping," Brutus says. "Such a young volunteer."

"Don't bash my tribute!" Enobaria slams her fists on the table, snarling like an animal. "How I wish I could go into an arena with _just you_."

Their fighting is actually rather amusing, so I sit back and eat whatever's on my plate. They continue on and eventually Flets clears his throat. Flets leaves the table, followed by his fellow stylist, Trisdy.

"Enough! You two have no manners! And, frankly, Enobaria, you are quite unladylike for keeping the argument going," Adalian says, interrupting the argument. She's an idiot, but I guess that when she gets angry, it's pretty funny. "What, Clove? When they fight, it means you have this much less chance of winning!"

"_I don't need them to win_," Clove fumes. She stands up and throws her knife on the table, leaving the room.

"She's not ladylike, either," Adalian huffs. I smile. "Now you, too? You might as well leave before I do something foolish and make a mockery of myself, Cato."

I stand up kindly, preparing to leave. "You already have," I inform her politely, and leave the room.

— — —

"In an undefined amount of weeks, twenty-three of you will be dead," the trainer says. I look around the tributes. I'm towering over all but one—the boy from Eleven, and he's no taller than me. It's almost funny how pathetic they are compared to me. These twenty-three that I'm staring at will be dead. "One will not. Who that is depends on your ability to anticipate. No fighting with other tributes; you'll have plenty time for that in the arena. My advice is: Don't ignore the survival skills. Everyone wants to grab a sword, but most of you will die of natural causes. Ten percent from infection. Twenty percent from dehydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife."

From the moment I stopped scanning my competition, I glued my eyes to her—the girl on fire. She flickers her eyes over to me. She quickly looks away, but she looks very uncomfortable. _Good,_ I think.

We're able to move around the Training Centre. Us Careers are already near each other, including the pathetic bastards from District Four. I don't want them in the alliance. I'll just kill them in the bloodbath.

"Hello, Cato," says a voice from behind me.

The girl from One walk in front of me when I don't turn around. She flicks her blonde fishtail braid behind her shoulder and struts away towards her district partner. I leave the group of incompetent fools and find a sword to wield.

The others follow me. They already see me as a leader. That or they are afraid that if they don't appear loyal to me, I'll break them in whatever way I can. And there's many ways. I'd prefer it if they were afraid of me. Everything would be so much easier if that were the case. And soon, that will be the case.

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

I watch, just for a moment, as he spins the sword and pierces the dummy.

The Careers this year aren't as brutal-looking as they usually are. But that won't stop them from killing me whenever they get the chance.

I know he is—the boy from District Two. It's so utterly obvious after seeing him with a sword, and even if I hadn't seen that, his height says it all. The girl from Two isn't any larger than me, and she might even be smaller. But she's a volunteer, so she has to have _something_ she can do.

The girl from One is average in every way. She's not a volunteer—which is a surprise—and she's my size. The boy from One is a volunteer and the one, I suppose, to goof off a lot.

Both from Four won't last, by their size, unless they get away from the alliance quick.

I return to my knot-tying. Someone sits next to me, but I don't look up to see who. I twist and tie and untie the rope to form the many snares I know from Gale back home in the woods.

"Hey," says a familiar voice. I look up at Peeta as he tries a beginner's knot. "We're supposed to stick together, remember?"

"I remember. You went away first," I remind him. We may have to appear together, but I don't want to be his ally yet. Not even with the bread hanging over my head. I really want to stop owing him for that.

"I was pulled away by the other tributes going all over the place," Peeta tells me. "I didn't leave."

We continue to create snares and the boy from Two occasionally stares at me. I try to ignore him as best I can. He must know we're forbidden to love. And he must not love me. So that means he wants to work me up. He can try all he likes, but I won't give that Career the satisfaction.

**A/N: Tell me, do you love it or hate it? Should I continue, or try for another story on my poll? **


	2. Chapter 2: Restless

**A/N: Who's ready for another chapter? **

**I have a Forum I've started called "We Are the Mockingjays: Everything Hunger Games" that I'd love for you to check out! I don't know; maybe Cato and Katniss could get together faster if you review saying that you checked out my Forum? Yes, I'm willing to bribe you! So… slower relationship and not bothering with the Forum… or… faster and bothering? Eh? Eh? You won't regret it! **

**You don't have to visit the Forum, but I'm serious about if you review saying you checked out the Forum that they'll get together faster.**

**Like I said, I'm skipping ahead a bit (the last chapter _was_, after all, just the prologue) to training scores. Reactions and whatnot need to be said, and I have an idea as to how the heck Katniss and Cato are going to have to learn to get along! And eventually… hehehe. **

**Katniss's reaction to her score is a little more calculating than it was in the original book, a little more strategic. I had to change some of it, and I want to have both POVs in each chapter, so that's what came out. Mainly, though, for now, it'll be in Cato's POV. **

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens)_**

**_Training Scores_**

"Clove, get in here!" calls Enobaria.

Clove rushes into the room and plops down on the couch in the seat next to me. We stare at the screen, silently, as Caesar Flickerman introduces the show. I watch the screen more intensely than anyone else in the room. I must get higher than the Careers. I _have_ to. I'm the strongest, smartest, and most likely to win.

I wish they would just get on with it! The idiotic blue interviewer rambles on and on. It seems as though he'll never _shut up_. I notice Clove gripping the edge of the couch, afraid of what she might get. At least I know she'll get lower than me. I always knew, though, because she's so small and weak. When the alliance is over, she'll be so easy to kill.

"Marvel—from District One," announces the interviewer for the Hunger Games. "Nine."

"He's in the alliance, right?" asks Brutus as Marvel's stupid smile leaves the screen and Glimmer's replaces it.

"Yeah," I answer, keeping my eyes on the blonde girl from the Careers.

"Glimmer—from District One." Caesar pauses again. To add suspense. For Glimmer. For anyone stupid enough to sponsor her. Surely she's made few enough enemies since she's so stupid, so I doubt rarely any other tributes will care about her score, unless someone has a "crush" on her. She tries hard enough… "Eight."

I didn't expect any more than that. Glimmer probably fumbled with a bow, and, when that failed, strutted around the room, trying to gain favor. I would have given her a seven just to see her squeal.

"Cato—from District Two," Caesar says to the screen. I smirk at the screen like I smirk at the girl on fire to make her nervous. "Ten."

My smirk widens. Clove looks at me like she might punch me in the face. She's so different without a knife in her hand. In training she's less angry and on-edge, less like she wants to rip your throat out with her bare hands. Or, to impress Enobaria, her teeth. It's more likely that I do that to her than she to me.

"Clove—from District Two."

Clove smiles at me. "Watch me get an eleven."

"Yeah, right." I yawn. "It's never been done before, and _you_, of all people, aren't going to be the first if I'm not."

"Me, of all people? What's _that_ supposed to mean?" she asks snappily. She turns back to the screen, not wanting to hear the answer I was willing to give to her.

"Ten," Caesar announces through the screen.

"Well, maybe I didn't get _eleven_, but I got a ten, and that means you're no better than me," Clove growls.

"We'll see." I turn away from the screen, not really caring about the rest. I don't care to hear our District Four allies' scores, either. They'll be dead the minute we reach the arena if I am to have anything to do with it.

"You two did fantastic," complements Enobaria, without the usual tone she, Brutus, Flets, Trisdy, and Adalian use to complement us. It sounds like an actual complement, not something you'd say to an uncomprehending two-year-old.

"You did," Trisdy agrees. And so ends the moment where Clove and I were the two capable Hunger Games, District Two volunteers.

"Yes, yes," Flets mumbles with a yawn, and leaves, Trisdy trailing behind. They never leave each other's sides, and it's rather odd and abhorrent at the same time.

"Never mind them! That's barely complements at all!" Adalian squeals. "Listen, last year's tributes that I mentored got a nine and a seven. Tens! I haven't seen this in—well, two years!"

"Two whole years," says Clove, her mood dampened. "I feel special."

Adalian rolls her eyes and smiles at me with her stupid blue eyes. She smiles kindly at me, even though she should hate me since I so obviously annoy her. She's openly called me overly arrogant, cocky, and selfish all the time, getting even angrier when I tell her that "cocky" and "arrogant" mean the same thing.

"Well, I know Cato appreciates me," she says softly, her eyes on me. "Isn't that right, Cato?"

Clove puts her hand over her mouth and restrains her urge to laugh. I can mess with her easily to make her angry, so I don't bother glaring at her.

Before I can say anything, Brutus says, "The Peeta guy from Twelve just got an eight."

"_What_?" Clove's eyes widen. We both turn back to the screen. "But… That's what Glimmer got! I only expected the guy from Eleven to get a Career-ranking score!"

"What _did _he get?" I ask. I want to know all about the real competition, and I think he'll be the only real competition. That rather disappoints me. I was looking forward, when I volunteered, to some real fun to go on; someone that would actually put up a decent fight, but, in the end, lose. To me.

"Nine. The girl from his district got a seven," Brutus tells us.

"A seven!" exclaims Clove. "No, that must be a mistake from the Gamemakers."

"You got a ten… calm down," I say to Clove.

"Katniss—from District Twelve." So that's the girl on fire's name. Katniss. What was she named for—that vile plant in the weak districts that I've only had but once or twice? It's laughable, just like I know her score will be.

"She'll rank a th—"

"Eleven."

Clove is hysterical in her own way. Really, Clove is always hysterical, so I guess you could only call this shocked—a much less I'll-kill-you-right-here mood for her. Her mouth is wide open and her eyes are wider than when Twelve boy got an eight.

Her expression is idiotic and weak, like everything about her.

I want to hit something. I want to kill someone. I want blood to flow right here, right now. If the girl from Eleven's seven was a mistake, then the eleven is a total flop. She never does _anything_. She's so boring and easily distracted, easily unnerved! How could _she_ rank higher than _me_? _Me_!

I know I'm better than her. I know—I _know_—that I have so much more of a chance to win than her. I know it with everything in me. So why did she get higher than me? The bitch is going down.

"She… got an eleven?" asks Enobaria.

"If you stopped thinking about yourself and watched the television, maybe you'd know," Brutus snaps. Not even their arguing is enough to not make me furious with the girl on fire. I want to snap her neck, extinguish her fire, the first chance I get. I want to take her sponsors like she's taken my actually well-deserved ones. "Listen, you two. She's your target now."

"I _know_," I breathe. "And there's no way she's getting past me."

"I could kill her, too. I'm just as capable." Clove stands up, calming down like she does in training when she gets a knife in her hand. "I got a ten. I will still slice you apart when the time comes." She'll always be threatening and will always flaunt every little thing she has on you to your face.

But Clove is the least of my problems now. I now know who my real competition is, and she's going down.

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

"Eleven."

"Katniss!" My name echoes around me like it did during Opening Ceremonies. I take my eyes away from the screen and look at the people around me. Cinna hugs me, Effie is squealing, and Haymitch sits there, looking satisfied.

"The girl on fire," whispers Cinna into my ear. I give him a smile when he pulls away.

Effie congratulates me with a too-big smile on her face and wide eyes. "Thank you," I say to her. "But… how? I mean…?"

"They probably liked your guts," Haymitch tells me, and smiles. "They need temper. They need drama."

The tributes have already targeted me—most of them have, at least—for showing them up in Opening Ceremonies. And now this. I think that not only did the Gamemakers like my "fire," but they wanted to get some sort of revenge on me for shooting that arrow at them. It's a cruel revenge, considering they're already sending me off into an arena to die out, creating obstacles for me to overcome or get killed by as we all speak up on the twelfth floor.

"Um… congratulations, Katniss," Peeta awkwardly says. I turn away from Haymitch, Effie, and Cinna to Peeta. We shake hands like we did at the reaping.

"You, too." For a moment we meet each other's gaze—not like Cato and I do… less intensely, less like he's been staring at me for hours—and all I can think about is the bread. He drops his hand and leaves the room.

While flashes of that day engulf me, Cinna and Portia leave the room, heading for their rooms. Effie yawns, smiles at me, and leaves, too. Haymitch, still in his chair, stands and makes his way for the hallway.

"Nice… job," he tells me. "Are you going to go to bed?"

"No, I… think I'll stay down here for a bit," I answer Haymitch. He nods and leaves, going down the hallway slowly. When I hear his door shut, I sit down on the couch and bring my knees to my chest and hug them tightly. I rest my head on my knees.

On the television is a short about the Opening Ceremonies, the reapings, and the scores, all mashed together to try to see the tributes' highlights. I notice how Peeta and I have the longest one cut together of all. We're first.

As it goes along, I really only pay attention to people like the little girl from Eleven—Rue, I believe—and the sly girl from Five. When it reaches District Two's tributes, I watch as the boy from Two—I can never seem to remember his name—volunteers for a boy just a little smaller than him. But he didn't volunteer for him like I volunteered for Prim.

When I am out of my daze of thinking again, it's showing cuts about District One's girl, the one that will gain sponsors just because of her looks. The fact that she's not a volunteer will be made up for by her looks to some Capitol teenager.

I get up, heading for my room. As soon as I do, I notice an Avox—not the one with red hair, not the one I could have saved—standing next to the couch. I jump back; frightened for a moment because I was unaware she was there. I don't want to just put her appearance to waste, so I order a glass of milk. I needed one, anyway; for I know I'm not getting to sleep quickly tonight.

How could I? The arena is basically tomorrow, since today is pretty much over. I can't stop thinking about Peeta and the bread, and what would've happened had he not had the decency, the kindness to give it to me. I can't stop thinking of how kind he's been, and how dangerous that is. And now I have the Avox girl from the woods in my mind. To top it all off, I can't stop thinking of my dead father, either.

Yes, tonight will be quite the restless night.

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Review! **

**I know I should've waited longer to update, maybe, but this chapter practically wrote itself, and I was not going to withhold it from you fellow Catoniss shippers—or not-so shippers if you're just here because you like the way I write…**

**_REMEMBER_: "We Are the Mockingjays: Everything Hunger Games"! For the sake of Cato and Katniss's getting together, check that out!**

**And also check CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal's stories out! They're awesome!**

**Until next chapter, my Catoniss-ers and not-so Catoniss-ers… **


	3. Chapter 3: Unhinge Me

**A/N: So, if you haven't, maybe check out my Forum, "We Are the Mockingjays: Everything Hunger Games"! It would be much appreciated, and… well, the bribe of last chapter is still in order.**

**The backstage part of the interviews will be a little different so I can work in some interaction between the two. Just telling you now.**

**R&R? **

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens)_**

**_Around midday on the day of the interviews._**

The certain blood to be spilled makes the blood inside me course through my veins as I anticipate it. I am a Career. I'm the strongest, the leader, and a definite victor. I must bring honor and spill it upon my district like the blood will be spilled across the arena tomorrow. Killing. Bringing honor. It's all I've been taught throughout my entire life to do.

I have to do this. I can do this. No one else can take this from me. I'm stronger than them—all of them, even her. I can do this.

"I suppose I don't have to discuss angles with you?" says Brutus as he dismisses Adalian from the dining room, Clove going with her. "Or would you like me to lay out the options?"

"I know how to get sponsors. I know how to do these interviews," I tell him. I look him in the eye, the way my father—who was also my trainer—taught me to do when someone doubted me. "They're a part of what I've been training for my whole life."

"Good. So you have no angle, then? Even for someone like you, winging it isn't a good option, Cato," Brutus informs me. "Try something."

"You've always doubted us—both of us—haven't you?" I narrow my eyes threateningly. "Why? Even Clove could do this if she weren't going in with me."

"You underestimate people, Cato." He stands up and walks through the dining room, heading for the sitting room across the hall. I follow him, readying myself for an argument. Brutus Tell seems to love to argue. "That's not a good trait to have as a tribute," he tells me when we've both sat down. "I think you should use a definite angle to follow when you go through your interview."

"That's a matter of opinion," I snap. He's underestimating me after just telling me not to underestimate others. He's contradicting himself by what he says and then what he means. He's not lined up to mentor someone, for he may just be surprised at the fact of how little we need him, how much more capable than him we are.

"And my opinion is right. Do you see how this works, Cato?" He smiles. "There's no doubt in anyone in the world's mind that I am making it back to District Two. You—though you may have sponsors betting on you and a hypothesis of your own—do not have a definite future in my district."

"It's my district, too."

"A dead man does not have a home on Earth, and therefore in the districts," Brutus tells me with a growing smile. He waves me off. "Go ahead with no angle. Have fun."

"I will," I fume, balling my fists and standing up.

"Smile, and go see your stylist. That's all Adalian'll tell you to do is smile," he explains.

—

"Admit it, Clove," says Adalian as we head for the elevator, "you like being a princess for a night."

"Not when Cato keeps checking me out." Clove looks at me, raising her eyebrows and scanning me statistically like the hateful machine she is.

I smirk at Clove, eying her orange, puffy, sleeveless dress to anger her. My own gray suit is fine with me, but she is unsure about her dress, and her puffed-up ponytail hair even more, and her glittery makeup even more.

"Yes, you're the person I'd like to spend my life with, Clove," I tell her sarcastically. "After I kill you I can live a long, happy life with your ghost."

"Ha-ha," Clove puffs. "I hate this—having to share a floor with _you_."

"You hate everything when you don't either have a knife in your hand, don't have power, or don't have tons of attention all on you." I smirk again, but this time while looking forward.

"Hush before you really get angry," advises Enobaria. "We want them to see you as amused, correct? Or something of the sort, not angry and ready to rip a throat out."

"She's right." Flets nods, Trisdy doing the same.

"She is, you two. It would be advisable to follow that advice," Trisdy agrees.

What Brutus says, though, is "That's your favorite example, isn't it?"

"Better than your 'oh-so-wise' act," Enobaria counters.

Adalian shakes her head. "Always, always, _always_ in an argument."

We enter the elevator—all of us—and Enobaria explains to us, "We'll be in the audience. Don't bother looking for us afterwards. Just go behind the stage where you were and—I don't know—talk to Marvel and Glimmer and Oakland and Talia."

Oakland and Talia are the worthless tributes from District Four, the Careers that'll die in the bloodbath, and the ones who're not really Careers at all. If you ask me, they're merely disgracing and embarrassing the rest of us.

The elevator zips to the floor of which our destination is on. We're shown to the backstage of the interviews and for the first time other than during the several reapings recap; I really take in all the tributes. And it's still different than then, because this is in person. I'm not afraid; I'm exhilarated. More than ever, I can't wait for tomorrow to don on me. I can't wait for the honor to come with it. I can't wait for honor to be brought on my district once more.

And I will be the one to bring it.

"There they are. You're last." Marvel points to us in his ridiculous blue and yellow suit. Okay, maybe he doesn't need Oakland and Talia to disgrace and embarrass him. He does pretty well at it himself. He smiles ridiculously as Glimmer's name is called. Her peach dress is very short and her angle is obvious. _She_ needs one. "Don't trip, Glim."

"I'll try not to." Glimmer struts away, her hair bouncing.

I turn around to go to the front, for my turn is soon. When I do, I see her. Over in the corner, with her district partner, is her. Katniss. Smiling inwardly to myself, I put on the smirk-like look on my face and look, expressionlessly, at her. Not a stare. Not a glare. Just looking, watching, observing, thinking of all the ways this must annoy her, all the ways I can kill her in the seconds she pauses before doing whatever got her the flezelking eleven because she's confused by me.

She looks up, at me, and then averts her gaze. And for the first time, I decide to devise a plan other than doing what I do. Because though I can do this alone, I will still have to eventually give in that I need a plan every once in a while to get through this swifter than I can without.

My plan is simple. My plan is small. But there's no way it won't work. I'll get under her skin even more. I'll talk to her after my interview, behind the stage in this small room.

Glimmer's called back, and Marvel's called up. Glimmer comes over my Clove, Oakland, Talia, and I. Oakland and Talia are more off to the side, afraid and alone.

"He asked the worst questions," Glimmer whispers under her breath. "I mean, couldn't he have asked anything more than strategy, Career questions, and if I 'have somebody'?"

"He must've known that's all you care about, and responded to it," Clove says, a look of annoyance on her face as she glares at the ceiling in a sidelong glance way.

"I only picked up a bit of decency when he asked if I was ready for the Games," Glimmer complains.

"If you really think you're ready, then won't you make up for it in the arena?" I explain to her, just trying to get her to shut up.

Marvel comes back and Clove goes up. Us Careers—which I so hate saying in such a way that makes me appear as so attached and apart of the group, when I am already anticipating the moment we split—are silent as Clove smiles and is such a deadly, violent person in such a girly, princess way throughout her interview. It's something I never thought was possible. Then I remember that during these interviews, she has power, and attention beyond her wildest belief. Right now, she doesn't need a knife to keep calm. She's captivating herself, and, therefore, deluding herself by believing that she's so gloriously captivating the rest of Panem.

I try to collect some sort of idea of what he'll say by what he asks Clove, and don't really care when I can't deduct anything. From what he asked Glimmer to what he asked Marvel to what he's asking Clove, it's utterly impossible to definitely determine what he'll ask. I don't need the angle to help me, but as I've decided, a plan can never hurt.

"Cato Allens!" I hear Caesar Flickerman say. Clove and I cross paths before I am on the stage and next to Caesar. "Hello, Cato."

"Hello," I answer back, crossing my legs.

"You seem quite strong. I'm sure strength isn't your only strength by your training score, though, am I correct?" Caesar questions.

"Of course. I'm strong, I'm fast, I can use many weapons—I'm unstoppable, Caesar," I say. I don't need Brutus's tips and tricks of the trade to pass through this interview, and he'll see that.

"I can see, what with everything I've seen so far. You must be a Career," he says.

And so on goes my interview—Caesar questioning and adding things and making the audience laugh; me answering and explaining and bringing pride to my district before I even step off the plate in the arena, before the gong even sounds. It's what I've been waiting for, ever since I started training when I was around six. And it's no less than what I've expected. But what I've really been waiting for is not yet here.

Before I know it, I'm back backstage and with the other Careers. I search the small room and have to depart from my small spot a bit—but not noticeably much to her, since I want to seem as though I appeared out of nowhere—to see over the boy from Eleven for Katniss Everdeen, girl on fire.

"Cato, where are you—?" I see her and ignore Glimmer as I walk forward—straight forward—to the corner I saw her earlier in. She's talking to Peeta, but I'll make him leave if he's still there when I get there. My eyes are fixated on my target—she's not a destination—so I almost run into a little girl. I wait until she moves to go forward again. The boy from Twelve abruptly leaves. Either he's noticed me, or I don't know why he's leaving her side.

"Hello, girl on fire," I say.

She doesn't start like I'd have liked her to. She just turns around to me and looks, unmoving and unspeaking.

"I said hello, girl on fire."

"District Two," she greets.

"Why so grim?" I ask, a fake smile realistically finding its way across my face. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

"Why're you talking to me, exactly?" she asks, her voice not even close to being anything but indifferent. I cross my arms, the smile leaving my face.

"The question is: why are you answering?" I fire back.

"It's hard to ignore when you always stare at me, constantly, whenever the tributes are gathered," she tells me. She looks down at her red dress. She hasn't met my gaze yet.

"That's not the case, now, is it?"

She doesn't break. She won't break. But I haven't tried, really, yet.

"How'd you get that eleven, girl on fire?" I ask.

"Do you know my name?" Avoiding the topic. Maybe I'm close. Maybe this'll be easier than I'd originally thought.

"Do you know mine?" I uncross my arms and sigh.

"No. I don't, unless it's District Two." She's cornered, and she knows it. I can tell by the tone of her voice that she knows I have her cornered.

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

"Well, it's Cato."

I don't know why he's talking to me, why he's been staring at me, but I do know that he wants to get under my skin, and I can't let him. Because if he does, he may just dig out my secrets. My skin's not easy to get under, though. If he actually wins this conversation, I know he'll have had _fun_ in doing so.

"Come on, tell me," he mock-begs. "What can I do with the information?"

"A lot, I bet," I say.

"Fine, girl on fire. No explanation's necessary, then. Don't tell me." He smirks. Not like his district partner. Different in an unexplainable but obvious way.

"Good, because I wasn't going to." That wipes the smirk right off his face.

"Later, then, girl on fire." And, thankfully, he's finally gone, so I walk away from the corner, feeling trapped, and return to Peeta speechlessly as the District Nine boy works his way though his speech.

Six tributes left until we return to the twelfth floor, and then I'll be asleep—well, it's delusional to think I'll be asleep quickly—and then it'll only be hours until I'm in the arena of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games.

**A/N: Looky there. A shiny blue button, so desperately just screaming to be pushed, clicked, written on… Do it. For the button's sake. It's dying—the button is. Don't be like Tris Prior. You could save it. Be Abnegation. Save the button. Click it. Write on it. You'll make it so happy. It'll be free; it'll live.**

**(Rereading Divergent and Mockingjay…)**

**But seriously, save the button. Save. The. Button. For the sake of everything Catoniss, save the button!**


	4. Chapter 4: Pawns

**A/N: I made a *gasp* mistake last chapter. It's "We Are the Mockingjays: Hunger Games Roleplay," not whatever I said, and it's not all RP, also. **

**Anyway, I. Love. Writing. This. Story. That's all I can say.**

**Also, though in the movie it was just the bottom of her dress on fire, I always imagined while I read that the flames enveloped Katniss and engulfed her entirely in the flames. So, since I have the ability to manipulate things like that, that's how it shall be.**

**Cato's… snappination (it's a word… wanna know why? I said it!) idea was brought to me by _shloh_. **

**Anyway, this _might_ have the bloodbath in it…? Who can know unless you read! **

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens)_**

I'm drawn to the screen in our small room backstage like a bee to honey as the girl on fire goes up for her interview. Competition is meant to be watched. So I do. The other Careers watch, too, since I am their leader, as I learn and decide to remember her name as Katniss. I still hate it, and I did before, as there is a déjà vu feeling once I decide upon this.

At first, she's fidgety in giving answers like she's nervous. She, the girl on fire, the girl who got an eleven, who showed _me_ up, is nervous. Then I realize that it might be of my doing, and a smile works its way to my face. When she starts to relax, it disappoints me, but she has no more chance against me than she ever did.

I don't pay attention to the words themselves, but the way they're presented, so I'm focused entirely on figuring something out when she starts to twirl.

It's like she, herself, is bleeding fire, not the dress. It's not just a little bit of engulfing, either. It's like she's being eaten by the flames. Her brown braided-bun whips with her as she stupidly giggles and twirls. I have no words to describe how I interpret the way she looked as she twirled when she's sat down.

She wasn't beautiful, nor was she bland, no was she anything but indescribable. Glimmer thinks otherwise, saying, in awe, "That's not fair… She was so beautiful… She has to die." The last I agree with. Clove rolls her eyes and walks away. Marvel walks in a different direction with his idiotic smile. And the two from Four cling close together as they move away.

My eyes will not move, no matter how much I want them to, until I have made up my mind of what I saw of the girl on fire… Katniss. My brain won't let them until it's stopped using everything I have to straighten my thoughts and make my mind stop shredding itself to find an answer: What do I think? I'm frozen in time, looking at an image in my mind of her, twirling. I can't find an answer, but I won't let myself leave myself with an indescribable blank.

Soon she's back, and I look away, because there's nothing I can do but leave the question in the back of my mind. Everyone kind of sits around until Peacekeepers—people I am familiar to, in fact, because my uncle trains Peacekeepers, and I often go watch for training orders from my father—come in from two doors on opposite sides of the room. Everyone then, when they see the Peacekeepers, rushes up to them and the Peacekeepers instruct that we can leave to our floor.

I am about to, when I see that the girl on fire—saying Katniss just doesn't have the ring that girl on fire does—is staying. So I stay back, and the Peacekeepers say nothing of it.

"Why you staying back, girl on fire?" I ask her like someone would ask a child.

"Waiting for Peeta," she answers aloofly, and stares at the screen across the room. "Will you _ever_ learn my name?"

I smile, not smirk, but in a menacing way. "I know it now, but girl on fire is so much better. So, waiting for Lover Boy?"

"Clever nickname," she says, indifferent.

"Careful. You're so close to making your way to being more of a threat than District Eleven boy." Now I smirk, going closer.

"You staying, too?" she asks, finally looking at me as I come closer, so close that she's cornered tighter than before. "What for?"

"Why should you know?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"That's not what I asked."

"But it's what I answered."

Before I can register doing it, I'm pinning her to the wall, infuriated with her, smirking like I'm about to kill her. Maybe I was about to, since my hand is where my sword would be if I had one with me. I continue to smirk. She's terrified, and no amount of aloofness and indifference that she always displays can hide it.

"How'd you get the eleven?" I demand, the words finding their way out of my mouth without my actual saying of them. "How?"

"Get off of me, Cato," she croaks in a small voice.

"_How_?" I snarl.

"Get. Off. Me."

"Tell me, and maybe I will," I snap, looking into her gray, pleading eyes.

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

I hear Caesar finish up the interview, and decide to talk during the time Caesar excuses Peeta so he comes in unnoticed to Cato. "Why should I, really, though?" I get out; I am afraid Cato's going to shove his arm in my neck. "It's my secrets, not yours. How could they help you, honestly, Cato?"

"Don't stall, girl on fire," he spits, and I just hear Peeta being released from his interview. "Love Boy's coming. I should go." He says the last part _casually_, and he lets go, like nothing just happened, like he didn't just try to kill me or whatever he tried to do.

For a moment, even after he's left, I'm frozen in one place, scared he'll come back with a sword. Then I loosen up, not really wanting Peeta to see me frozen in place, and not in the mood to explain to Peeta what's just happened. So when he comes, sheepishly looking at me like he's embarrassed and I might snap at him, I am confused to why.

"What?" I ask.

"You didn't hear my interview?" Peeta asks, looking less diffident.

"I… was held up." My brow is furrowed in obvious confusion. "Why?"

"There'll be recaps. You can watch the interview then, Katniss," Peeta tells me, and I don't question it, since tomorrow I'll be trying to shoot him, and I still owe him for the bread—whether it's an thank-you or something as simple as this, even though it doesn't exactly make up for the burden of the beating he got to save mine, Prim's, and my mother's life.

"Okay" is all I say.

Later, back at our floor, Haymitch awaits us—with Effie, Cinna, and Portia, too—saying we did a great job and is eying me like he's waiting for a reaction. "You seem very calm for what's happened in the interviews," he says. "I didn't expect you to take it so smoothly."

"She didn't watch… or couldn't," Peeta explains to Haymitch.

"Of course. Well, recaps should be soon, but you should probably get some sleep instead," Portia informs.

"Peeta can tell you," adds Cinna.

Suddenly I very much want to hear what happened in Peeta's interview. The peculiar way they're acting is really making me suspicious, and I'm not sure I'll like what it is, but I want to know anyway. So I decide I'll just watch his interview on the recaps, since I won't be getting to sleep anytime soon.

"I'll watch," I say defensively, and accept the rest of the congratulations Effie and Cinna and Portia give. Then I go to my room and wash all the makeup off, dressing in something that suits me more than the interview dress did, though—if I may say so myself—I did look pretty in it.

Once I'm in a tan Capitol nightgown, I go to the sitting room, which is almost abandoned with the exception of an Avox… and someone else. I don't think it's another Avox that's sitting on the couch, watching as Cato's interview's recap blows by. I quietly enter the room to see Peeta sitting there, watching and waiting.

"Hey." I sit down on the couch next to the one he's on as the people from Three's recaps start.

"Hi." He doesn't take his eyes from the screen.

"I don't really care if you think you didn't do well on your interview, Peeta," I assure him. "My best moment was when I talked about Prim… My little sister, you know."

"I know." Peeta almost sighs—maybe he does. "It's not that. Just watch."

"Alright," I say.

We watch in silence until my interview comes by, and I really realize that, to me, when I talked about Prim _was_ my only decent moment. Maybe my eleven and my being the girl on fire will make up for that. Maybe the Capitol like my ditzy ways shown in the interview. I know that in District Twelve, if they aren't rooting for Peeta—which most probably are for him, not me, unless they're people from the Hob, the Hawthornes, Madge, or my family—they won't care how ditzy I am. They'll want me to win either because I shoot their dinner most of the time, because or Prim, because of my father, or—for so few on this case—because of just me.

Finally Peeta's comes along, and the very beginning—just as he and Caesar are acquainting—I am familiar with. I watched that. It wasn't until now, while they're talking about the showers and roses and sniffing one another that I didn't see. I don't see the big deal. If anything his interview was great—for him.

Caesar asks about if he has a girl back home. I'm starting to wonder if Peeta thinks I like him and it'll be awkward when he says yes—because I'm almost certain he'll say yes—when he denies it and Caesar doesn't believe him. Peeta admits he has a crush, she's never noticed him until the reaping, and Caesar says to win, and then the girl will have to go out with him. I don't know why this would be awkward at all… until he says it.

"Winning… won't help in my case," Peeta admits on the television.

"Why ever not?" screen-Caesar asks.

"Because… because… she came here with me."

That's it. End of interview. Caesar dismisses the show and that is about the time tat Cato let me go, right before Peeta came in.

I don't say a word. Anger and confusion and hate flushes through me, and then guilt and more anger and confusion, too. I'm in my room, under the covers, trying desperately to sleep, to rid myself of the confusion by sleeping, but I can't. Not when I know that when I wake up, I'll be shipped off to a fight to the death, a fight for more than survival, which is my nature.

It's a cross between pacing and trying to sleep for hours before I find a robe and walk to the roof, not caring if I'm not supposed to be out there or not. When I go out there, he's there, staring at the Capitol citizens as they call for an encore. They should know we're up here, in the Tribute Building, readying ourselves for tomorrow.

I decide not to be angry for my reasons of not questioning his notion of me seeing his interview on recaps earlier. Well, I decide to not be fully angry like I was.

I sit next to him speechlessly. He turns his head from the ground. "Couldn't sleep." A statement, not a question.

"Neither could I," I state back.

We both stare out at the Capitol now, just watching, sitting, thinking. Wordless air fills the space between us until he breaks it. "It's wild down there… all for us."

"For us?"

"All of us, not just you and I," Peeta tells me.

"I know."

There's more silence. I don't know why, but I ask, "Was that a strategy?"

He's silent, and for a second, I don't think he understands what I mean, and I won't ever know, because all he does is shrug his shoulders. His jaw tightens momentarily. Then un-tightens as he says, "I want to die me, you know? I don't think that makes sense." I shake my head. He sighs. "I don't… want them to change me. I want to stay _me_."

If I've learned _anything_ about the boy with the bread, it's that he has a way with words, so when he gets tongue-tied trying to explain this to me, it's actually kind of surprising.

"What do you mean, Peeta?" I ask.

"I—I mean that I don't want them to turn me into someone I'm not—someone that's solely a piece in their game," Peeta says clearly, but I still don't understand. "I want to be more than a piece in the Capitol's Games. I want to show them that I'm more than that, you know?"

"I… I don't," I tell him. I kind of get it… somewhat, but I don't see how it's possible. None of us—not even the people like Cato—are more than pieces in the artwork that is their Hunger Games. "I do, but it's useless, Peeta. No one can do that."

"Well, maybe I can," he says defensively, turning to me. "I'm _more_ than that, than just an expendable pawn, Katniss. I want them to know that… that it's useless to try to change me, because I'm more than that."

"But it's not useless on their part. They already have used you, changed you into nothing more than a pawn, when you said you loved me," I snap back.

I don't know why I'm arguing with him, or why he's arguing with me, but I don't care. I'll argue back, because right now, though selfishly, it's getting my mind away from the future, and I think that's exactly what I need, so if he wants me to fuel to his angered fire, then I will. After all, I'm the girl on fire.

"I never said I loved you," he shoots to me.

"But you set up some star-crossed love bit, and what if the Capitol forces that on us in the arena somehow? What can we do, turn it down?" I toss at him. He doesn't answer, which only makes me angrier since he started the whole thing. I should just give it up. He has. It's selfish, anyway, to keep it going. Not that it matters. In a matter of hours, I could be dead. We both could be. Has he taken this into effect already? "Was it an act?" He doesn't answer, so I repeat myself.

"Goodnight, Katniss," he says softly, his blue eyes darting across me. "Uh… see you tomorrow."

And I don't say a thing back.

**A/N: Well, there's another chapter. No bloodbath (*tear*). But on the bright side, Katniss and Peeta had a fight! I've wanted to do that for a while, but this story is the only opportunity I've had. **

**So, love it? Hate it? Review!**

**I'll be updating quite a lot on account of… *drum roll, please* …we've reached one thousand hits _already_! That's more than I'd even come _close_ to hoping for!**

**So, whattaya say if we reach the thirty-five review mark, tomorrow this story is updated. Thirty= Monday. Twenty-eight= Wednesday. Twenty-seven= next Saturday. Good deal, huh? **

**Check out CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal's stories!**


	5. Chapter 5: Two Kinds of Hunt

**A/N: I am following the book, not the movie, despite how much I want to have Cato watch Katniss on the hovercraft, still confused… Oh, how confused he is. **

**Well, I was thinking and staring at this summary I had typed for a novel I would one day write, when suddenly… an idea—I think it's the best idea I've ever had—sparked. And now I suddenly have an entire three- to six-book series stuck in my head. I've started it—it sucks for such an amazing idea…—but I won't update any less, due to the fact that I currently hate the way the book's turning out. But I love the idea! **

**I'll shut up now. But not before I say… _OVER 2,000 HITS!_ You guys are all _awesome_!And, while rereading Mockingjay, I've discovered that Cato is mentioned 9 times in all. More than Rue, more than Cinna, more than her _father_. Katniss is in denial of her love for him…**

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens)_**

Today. Is. The. Day. I. Enter. The. Hunger. Games.

Blood courses through my veins as Trisdy wakes me. I smile, not bothering to conceal the rush I feel. I deny the simple outfit Trisdy says I should wear in the hovercraft. When Trisdy continues to nag about it, I accept it and slide it on, not wanting to wait another second. I don't know where Clove is, and could honestly not care less.

"Come on, this way," says Trisdy as she leads me like a small child to the roof, where a hovercraft waits. For once, in the enlightenment of my mood, I don't mind her treating me like a child.

I grab the ladder. It freezes me in place, and then I start to come up. Still frozen at the top, a woman approaches me. My eyes surf her needle as she implants it in my skin. "It's your tracker, Cato," she informs me in her white coat. "Stay still and it'll go quick." Obviously she has experience and knows how to talk to a Career. Tell them it'll be fast, that if we're still—how could we _not_ be in this current that's freezing us?—we'll be there faster.

_There_.

Where is there? Is it everything I've dreamed of? Being in an arena, in a fight to the death? Being a contestant in the Hunger Games? I don't know, and I hate how giddy I must seem, but it's like seeing an array of never-ending food displayed, free, before you, with no conditions, after starving for days, weeks. Happiness and joy and hope, and, for me, pride and honor.

I'm unfrozen. Soon, Trisdy's up in the hovercraft, too. I eat breakfast in one of the hovercraft's rooms, looking out the window, staring at nothing. I dedicate my thoughts to trying to figure out the twirling, because I'm not burdening myself by thinking about it in the arena. I need to get any thoughts about the girl on fire that isn't dreams of killing her out of my head.

When the windows black out, I know what it means. It means we're close—close to the arena and my future's beginning. I calm down without the intention to, and am glad. For a moment, I allow myself to not be myself—to be someone like Marvel and Glimmer. Just because no one has to know. And then I erase that moment forever, because no one has to know.

"Almost there," Trisdy says. My eyes dart up.

In the catacombs under the arena, Trisdy and I find my Launch Room. It's an honor, as I've been taught, to have a Launch Room. It's purely yours, and never to be anyone else's. I don't see it as more than a white room with a tribute outfit, food, and a lot of water. It's pretty big, though, with a bathroom and that big tube before us as soon as we walk in.

I am instructed to shower. I do so. I am instructed to clean my teeth. I do so. I am instructed to redress in the arena clothes. I do so. Orders are, unlike usually, not so against me now, since soon I will be the one forcing orders down a pack of fool's throats as they try to impress me—or do anything so I don't kill them, snap their necks, slice their stomachs.

I slip the underclothes on. Then the green, collared shirt. The plain, tawny pants. Brown belt. Hooded and thin black jacket. Tight socks. Black leather boots that Trisdy tries to explain to me, along with the rest of the outfit, all of which I ignore and grab a bit of water, drinking it to quench my thirst. I look around the room, realizing there is nothing left to do here. The next thing I do of purpose will be in the arena.

"You know what's first?" Trisdy breaks the silence.

"Find a sword," I answer confidently. "Take out as many as possible. Assemble the Careers. Pick through the Cornucopia when the bodies are picked up. Plan from there."

"You're ready," she says, almost bewilderedly surprised. Apparently she's never met a Career from Two if she's so surprised.

"I've trained. All my life, practically," I snap.

Silence. "Prepare for launch," an elated woman's voice announces over the speakers. The shortness of time in the Launch Room suggests that District Two was taken close to last. Maybe that's why Trisdy seemed rushed.

I don't look at Trisdy again. I walk straight forward into the tube and wait until I start to rise. I wait and wait. And then I start to rise, slowly. For a moment, I'm encased in darkness. It shapes me and forms me like water does in all of its homes. Then light is filling my entirely.

Claudius Templesmith's voice echoes out, "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games begin!"

"Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight," I whisper as I begin to see again and look at the numbers playing on the Cornucopia.

I look at the Cornucopia. Spears for Marvel, knives for Clove, and even a bow for Glimmer are in my vision. But for some reason, unless it's deep in the Cornucopia, there's no sword for me. I'm sure there is, because I'm a good chance for action, and the Capitol won't miss action. For some reason they must've thought _Glimmer_ was a good chance for action, because there's a bow, clear as day.

Next to me, on my right, is the girl from… Six? Or Ten? Maybe Five…? On my left is the boy from Either Seven, Eight, or Nine… I don't honestly know. About eight tributes down is Clove as she surveys the distance between the knives, and the equidistant tribute platforms. Three from her is Marvel, with that same… exact… smile on his face as he looks around the tributes. Ten to my right is Glimmer as she looks at me. I look away before she sees. She's Glimmer. _Looking_ at her gives her ideas. About seven to my right is the girl on fire, and two is Lover Boy. The tributes from Four I don't bother looking for.

I look at the sixty-second clock, and whisper along, "Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen…"

I fixate my eyes on a knife with a particularly long blade, not a sword. Swords are deep in there. Swords come after the knife. I set my feet, ready to run, as a monotone voice rings out, "Five, four, three, two—" One is outdone by the gong.

My feet don't even shuffle; I don't even hesitate. I'm on my feet, heading for the knife, there before anyone else. I grab it and stop running, looking behind me for prey. The District Ten girl drops to the ground when I see her. She cowers at my feet, noticeably shaking. She stands up when I don't move for her, and that's when I take a large step forward and twist her neck.

I see Clove behind me, chucking a knife at a small boy. She appears next to me and tells me, "The swords are in the Cornucopia."

I raise my eyebrows. "Well, you must be excited." I jog to the inside of the horn and take a sword, put the knife in my belt, and return to the fighting taking place. Before me is Oakland. He has a knife in his hand, standing next to me, thinking he's in the alliance. I push the sword in his throat and drag it out. Blood spurts. He falls. And I move on to the next person. This is what it feels like to kill.

I think I'm about to drop dead, too, when I see Clove throwing a knife at the boy from Nine, who's struggling for an orange pack with some familiar girl. Clove throws a knife at that girl, but she deflects it with her pack, and runs off with Clove's knife and Glimmer's bow and arrows, her braid flopping as she finds a home in the trees. The girl on fire is going down.

But not now. There's a bloodbath going on now. I sit back and observe for a moment, searching through the weapons, picking some out, testing them, as Glimmer races in, furious. "Where's the bow?" she whines.

"Girl on fire got it," I tell her, eying a bloodied axe. "We'll get it for you when we kill her. Just find something else."

"But, Cato, you don't get it! I need my bow!" I can't believe she's starting to throw a fit in the middle of the Hunger Games, on live television.

"Take something like an axe or a mace and get over it," I hiss, and brush past.

The girl from Three gets in front of me. I almost sigh, taking the knife from my belt and throwing it at her small body. Not looking down, I go forward to look at those who are still here, after the hour or so, fighting for their lives. At the outskirts of the fight, I can see Marvel getting what I think might be his first kill, pinning them down and stabbing their stomach with a machete.

Walking around looking for more kills, I see Glimmer still fretting over the bow in the Cornucopia. And then I almost trip over a body. The arrow protruding through her neck is a giveaway to the killer's identity. Her brown hair covers her face, but there's no doubt that this is a fellow Career of mine. And she killed her. She shot her. Is that what got her the eleven? Archery? It doesn't matter. She can shoot. Talia's dead body is in front of me to prove it.

A small, twelve-year-old boy with reddish hair like the girl's hair that stood next to me on the tribute platforms works his way into my vision without him noticing. I stab my sword in his back. Blood only oozes from this wound, but he still drops dead, to the ground.

The last person tries to sneak past us to their safety. I notice them and run to the Cornucopia up behind her. She snaps around—a mistake, since she might've otherwise had a slight but still nearly impossible chance—and I throw my sword. Then I snap her neck to ensure her death and collect my sword before she hits the ground. Blood trickles under the steel as it slides through her flesh, the thick hole in her stomach now puking out blood. I let her body fall, face-first, to the ground, and survey the area, just in case another still awaits their death.

No one's at the Cornucopia, so the Careers form together. There's just us from One and Two, like I'd wanted, but it rubs me the wrong way—more than it does the others when they find Talia's body, that Katniss shot her. I don't know why, and, frankly, I'm sick of not understanding the girl on fire.

"I. Got. No one," snarls Glimmer. "I couldn't _find_ a weapon I understood left before everyone ran or was dead, because _she got my bow_!"

"Take the machete," Marvel offers, handing her the bloody weapon. "I like my spears."

"Marvelous, Marvel. I killed two people," Clove declares proudly.

"Five." I start to head towards the Cornucopia. "Let's find matches and flashlights or night glasses and go search for tributes."

"No, I think we should establish a camp," Clove suggests.

I turn around. "Unguarded?"

"Cato's right," Marvel says genuinely. "Had Katniss not got Talia, she could've guarded, so I think a camp up here's out tonight."

"Make a plan, Cato," Glimmer says, looking at me expectantly.

"Look for water, matches, weapons you want, and flashlights and or night glasses," I order. Standing there, not cooperating, my allies, all except Clove, who has her nose in the Cornucopia right now, watch me for my initiating the search. "Go!" Marvel and Glimmer scramble. I go deep in the Cornucopia to where the swords are. Hanging on the wall. Three of them. Just for me.

But I already have a sword, so I look through the big suitcases for water. I find four full canteens and two flashlights in the suitcase. There are tons of extra batteries and night glasses in the suitcase, also. I take a canteen—the largest—and night glasses for myself and get one of each for the rest of my alliance, since they seem incapable of finding them themselves. "Hey, I found enough for all of us," I announce. "Let's go."

I toss the supplies to my allies as we set off, in search of everyone, and especially the girl on fire.

**_Backtrack to the bloodbath._**

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

Once I've surveyed the area, I see it. The bow. Right there. I have thirty seconds to decide. The bow or Haymitch's instructions. Well, he's never seen my speed. And I can't prove that I can make it now, so I set my feet for the bow with little thought. That bow is my survival. Without it, I can't do anything. I can't hunt to eat to survive, I can't… the second I don't even want to think about.

Without a bow, I can't kill to win to get back to Prim and Gale and my mother. There. That way it sounds close to decent.

I am waiting, floating in midair like a leaf, for the gong to sound. So few tributes away from me is Peeta. I don't catch his eye, though he's trying to catch mine to say something or whatever he's trying to do. I'm still frustrated with him about last night. I don't care about the bread;—well, I do, but he must know there's nothing I can do to thank him, and has either forgotten or has let it go—I'm not letting him catch me eye, throw me off. I set my feet for my bow and ready myself to run, run, run as fast as possible.

One minute the gong is sounding, and the next I'm a step away from the bow. Others surround the Cornucopia, too, but I don't pay attention. I swing the sheath around my shoulder, load an arrow to the bow, and run again. To the woods. Just like my woods. The odds are in my favor, what with the bow and the woods. If I had time to get a pack, too, all would be perfect—

And then I see it. In front of me. Far away from where I am since I got the bow. I run to it. It's orange, so I'll have to camouflage it, but it's fine. It's fine as long as I get it before I get killed. The thought snaps me back into reality, and I realize more thoroughly where I am and what's at stake. I'm so far from the edge, stuck in the midst of it all. Maybe Haymitch had a point. But his point is worthless without my bow. My bow is my salvation.

As I run, more alert, bowstring pulled back, aimed at the great, ready to raise and release within a second, I get farther from all the deaths. Blood is everywhere I step, it seems. At this rate, if I have to avoid every single killer, and get to the pack, who knows how long it could take before I get to the woods and safety? So I stop trying to guess and stop trying to keep track. That leaves a space in my head, in my mind, and my mind decides to fill it by keeping track of all the dead I pass. And then there's nothing left to get _that_ out of my head but think of home.

Which is no better. It's no better to think that I may never see Prim's face again. Gale and I may never laugh again. I may never get the chance to forgive my mother. And if I do get that chance, it means my little sister—my sweet, sweet, small, twelve-year-old sister—will have to see me kill another innocent child. She may have to see her sister brutally wounded. And my mind won't take the thought of her seeing her sister fatally, brutally wounded. Brutal is enough. Fatal… I don't want her to see that.

It takes a second too long to notice the axe next to my head, preparing to makes its descent to my brain. I drop to the ground and raise my bow, aiming for his head, and release. It hits his chest—I don't stop to take the time to see if it was a fatal chest wound—and I move on. Though I didn't get a thorough look, I don't think the wound will be fatal. Unless someone else wounds him, he'll make it. I haven't killed anyone yet.

But the time will come when I have to do so. Soon. And I won't hesitate. I can't afford to hesitate.

The pack is close. So close. Another boy gets to it at the same time I do. He—bloody and weak—and I tug on it. Tug of war. I consider shooting him, but there are too many things that could falter. He could run too fast for me to load an arrow. Someone could kill me while I yanked the pack from his dead body. I could miss. And then I could either be dead or without a pack—which is as good as dead in terms of water. But I can't just stay in the middle of the battlefield.

Blood splatters me. The boy drops to the ground, a knife in his back, dead. I rip the bow away and start to run. The knife-thrower that killed the boy is Cato's district partner. The girl who never misses. She starts to throw one at me, but I put my backpack up just in time for it to lodge in there instead of my head. Then I'm running again, with not just a bow, but a knife, too.

There's a yank at my backpack, and I turn to see the girl from Four with a knife in her hand, preparing for some sort of hand-to-hand battle. Though she's small, she's brave. And arrogant. Small, brave, and arrogant—not a good combination in the Hunger Games.

There's no alternative. I flip around and load my bow. She, wide-eyed, backs away, probably just noticing that I have a bow. I release the arrow into her neck, and there's no way she's alive. Either dead immediately or will die from blood loss before her allies get to her. Even if they get to her in time, I don't think Cato would allow any of them—which I doubt any of them honestly care—to keep her alive. She's dead. I killed her.

Gale's words in the Justice Building, telling me I know how to hunt, and when I counteract that I've only ever hunted animals, his saying that it's no different. I wonder if it is. Right now, it doesn't seem so, but I'm completely adrenaline rushed, and no feeling but the need to survive is going to penetrate that any time soon. So I pick up my knife that District Four girl snagged, take her knife, lodge them in my backpack, and run into the woods that are so near, and into safety.

For now.

**A/N: So. Love it? Hate it? Review!**

**I know I was supposed to update before, but I have two perfectly truthful and good excuses: 1. It's the bloodbath! I wanted it long and totally awesome! 2. I've been gone. Out of the state. So… no computer access. Perfect excuse, and very true. **

**ANNNND!: So, I suppose just about everyone read this has read Maximum Ride, correct? Tons of people I've "met" on Fanfiction have, and most of my friends have—which is saying something, because my friends, all except my best friend, hate to read—but I have not. So, it's in the mail and on its way to me so that I'm not the only person in the universe that hasn't read it! **

**Now, like I said, re…view. **


	6. Chapter 6: Scraping for Sponsors

**A/N: I am ashamed of the lack of reviews *hangs head low*. Was my bloodbath not filled up to your expectations? I worked so hard to make is brutal, bloody, and in-character! Oh, well, I guess you can just make up for it today?**

**I am ashamed too admit it, but I'm falling in love with FinnickxKatniss. Never, ever, _ever_ will it outshine Catoniss for me, though. That's stuck in me like writing this story is. **

**Totally in love with "Lux in Tenebris" by _ClimbingUpTheWalls_ and tempted to steal and use the idea for myself. I couldn't break my eyes away for a straight hour. I'm extremely, insanely in love with that story. That or I'm desperately looking for all Catoniss fics I can get in to. Probably both. But now that you're here, it means you're doing that! **

**SOOO, how about a chapter to prove that? Yes? No? If you said no, why'd you even click? Go find a Peeta or Gale or whoever fanfic and live the rest of your days in denial of Katniss and Cato's totally freaking awesomeness together. ALRIGHT? So, Cato and Katniss interaction? What do you say? And I have decided that, though I doubt I won't even have a sequel, if I have a rebellion, Finnick will stay _perfectly alive_. He's too freaking awesome. I just can't do it. I'd die if I had to write that. I don't know how Collins does it. Prim… maybe—no matter how heartless that sounds. Rue maybe. Even Marvel and Thresh and… even Clove maybe (which is saying something, since Clove is awesome). But Cato, Cinna, and Finnick? And Finnick and Cinna's were, like, one paragraph—maybe two!**

**_Who else do you think is getting the first POV?_**

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens)_**

Night falls on us slowly as we go through the woods, laughing and running and talking about the look on our bloodbath kills' faces. Glimmer is in the back, her arms crossed as she pouts like a baby. We run and laugh more, imagining the look of Katniss's face as we kill her. All of us have a large hate for her, but the thing is, they can explain it. I cannot. It's weak of me, but it's not like anyone here's ever going to ask and if they do, I don't have to answer.

"Hey, look, Cato," whispers Marvel, pointing. "There's someone over there." I look where Marvel's pointing and see no one. "See him?"

"No," I answer, and move forward. But there is someone there. Lover Boy. He's standing in the line of trees, unflinching as I draw my sword. He doesn't even move. Does he actually think he could take on the Careers?

"Wait," he says, halting us. Clove rolls her eyes and is about to throw her knife anyway, when Peeta continues. "I could lead you to Katniss."

"You know where she is?" I ask, doubtful. He's probably just looking for a chance to protect Katniss or looking for a chance to get in on the alliance. I'll kill him when that proves true, but until then, maybe he actually could lead us to her.

"Yes," he admits, stepping back, finally afraid when Marvel pulls out his spear. Now we're all armed and waiting to kill him. Even Glimmer is taking tentative steps forward with Marvel's machete slightly raised. Surely, I am the only one who sees value and or an easy kill. Maybe in this kid there's value and two easy kills. "And I'll lead her to you immediately… on one condition."

I knew this was coming. Protection for him or something. I'll agree, but it'll be a lie. I'll kill him the moment the girl on fire's cannon sounds, simple as that. Other than taking us to her, Love Boy's of no use to us, and we don't need to haul around useless people that are just getting in our way. Or, more of those people, anyway, since we already have Glimmer and Marvel. Clove and I are the only capable ones here, and she's barely even that.

"Kill him, Cato, or I will," Clove growls, looking at Love Boy hungrily. But it's not a hunger for food; it's a hunger for death, a type of hunger all four of the Careers have experience. It's a hunger we're taught to and adapt to needing. It's an addictive hunger, unlike any other type there is. Just the look in Clove's eyes makes it shimmer and radiate off of her every cell.

"What's the condition?" Ignoring Clove, I lower my sword just a little bit and step out. I give my allies a hard look and the back off, too. Lover Boy steps forward.

"Hear me out before you disregard my condition and kill me," Lover Boy orders peacefully, taking small steps forward until he's out of the trees and is facing the rest of us. "Katniss could be of use. She got the bow, right? She's an excellent shot. Use her until she has no use. Give her a while. She can take out some of the tributes you don't want to bother trying for. And then, when you feel she's outlived your patience, she'll already be close and in the alliance, so easy to kill. Think about it." He pauses, his words lingering over the rest of us.

"No!" Clove snarls. "We're not having both the rats from Twelve in our alliance, right, Cato?"

I know I vowed to myself not to let girl on fire in the alliance, but Lover Boy's right. She's a great shot—that I know of. She could take out people like the girl from Five or Eleven, or the boy from Three, and the Careers could focus on actual competition before and after I kill her. It's something to consider, but there's no time to consider. I am in charge, and must make a decision soon.

"Fine." I turn around. "No objections or you risk my sword in your brain, got it? Follow Lover Boy and I." Turn back to Lover Boy. "Where is she?"

"My name is Peeta, for one," he says. I lift my drawn sword. "Follow me."

I put my sword back, and follow "Peeta" as he guides us around the forest, seeming very confused. I'm about to pull him back and slit his throat when we hear a loud _crack_ way in the distance, and fire flickers up, It's not the girl on fire, but it's an easy kill nonetheless. I turn around, pointing to the fire up ahead. "Be quiet. We'll sneak up on them."

The others nod, and we begin to run. It's only a little bit before we reach her. So small and fragile, she doesn't even notice us until it's too late. I'm already bringing my sword down. The look on her face—one of pure terror and regret—is perfect to add to the equation. She, frightened, starts to back away, but then gives in to her dismay. "Please," she begs helplessly. "Please, don't kill me! Please!"

My sword slices her heart, blood flows, a piercing scream fills our ears—and earns laughter—and we run again, laughing now. Marvel, his idiotic smile on his face, laughs the hardest, trying to make even more laughter come from the happenings. I'm still reveling in being the main cause of death at the Cornucopia and in these Games at all, standing tall with six kills now. Because, though her cannon hasn't rung, I know where I cut that girl.

I remember how Peeta's taking the lead as Glimmer mocks the girl loudly, repeating her pleas. I hate that I'm not the leader since I've gotten so used to it. I jog up to where Peeta is, scouring the treetops. I start to walk again as Peeta hears a crack up high above and looks in the direction of a mockingjay. He's not hiding his lack of knowledge of where his lover is. If she's not found within the next three days, he's dead.

"Where is she? I'll lead if you tell me the direction," I tell him. "Stay behind and look at the trees, though, since that's where you think she'll be."

He shakes his head. "I know. We met up together, but I didn't tell her about this. I swear. She's in this direction, and said she wouldn't move because I told her I was coming back, but I was in that spot a while, and can't remember exactly where she is."

"Tell me again, why are you leading us to her, _Lover Boy_?" I ask him curiously, narrowing my eyes as we walk; the rest of the alliance a good three yards back and all very loud, except Clove, who's laughing a little but naturally very quiet. She never takes in anything. So deep in her thoughts, Clove's always mysterious, and can never be read all that well. It frustrates me in an annoying way, unlike the way the girl on fire frustrates me in a curious way.

"I do and don't want her dead," he replies. The sponsors are surely leaving him behind, and he has to do something to bring them back. There's no doubt our conversation is ruling the screens of Panem as the people stare fixatedly, all bending for Peeta. But they're mine, and I can easily bring them back when given the chance. "I… I can't do it myself." My suspicions are confirmed. Sponsors must be tripping over themselves. _Just wait,_ I think with a sigh. "I need to see her first, be in an alliance with her first, and then am hopefully asleep when the time comes to kill her."

"Naturally," I reply, looking away. Continuing a conversation with this rat—as Clove called him—is despicably hard, but sponsors are craving for more, and I must prove to them, and all of District Two, that I can be relied on to put up a good show. Not that they need reassurance. I've already proven someone worthy to bet on, what with my great show at the Cornucopia and moments ago.

"Hey, Cato, we should go back and see that girl," suggests Marvel as he jogs to our side, and then looks between us, starting to laugh. "Did I interrupt?"

"Fuck you. And I know where I cut her," I growl. "She's dead."

"But, Cato!" whines Glimmer as she and Clove catch up. "The cannon hasn't—"

"I said she's dead!" I roar.

Peeta tenses up, looking around the trees, but not at one in particular. He starts mumbling about the deal, and gradually gets louder, asking if the deal's still intact. He explains that she has a bow and will be immensely of use, and that he can convince her into the alliance if she says no. I agree, and Clove tenses as Peeta relaxes.

They're complete, utter opposites, not a thing similar except the fact that they're both of the same species. I'm surprised Clove hasn't killed him in a stealthy way yet, though there's no doubt she is, right now, plotting two executions. I make a mental note to not put her on watch with either Peeta or Katniss, and to firmly warn Glimmer and Marvel of the consequences if I wake one day with the girl on fire dead. Lover Boy is expendable, though I make sure to not kill him until I kill Katniss, since she'll surely leave once he's dead.

"She's up there," Peeta says blankly, pointing to a tree. And the cannon for the girl I stabbed fires.

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

_He's trying to kill me!_ I scream in my mind. _Forget_ repaying the boy with the bread! He's trying to kill me! He's led the Careers here and now he's trying to kill me! But that means he doesn't know about my bow, and how I can easily kill them all right here, right now, up in this tree. But then something odd happens I scale the tree higher. Something that makes me freeze in my tracks, almost dropping my bow to the ground far below.

"So, she's in the alliance now," remarks Peeta worriedly, but only I can see that, for he's very nicely placing absence of care in his voice and face instead. Only I can see because I'm an expert at it. I've done this all my life—masked my every emotion with aloof indifference.

Still, I don't think I can hide my shock. I try to, like we've planned this whole thing, since we _are_ supposed to appear as a team, but it's hard. I end up acting like I misplaced my foot and am shocked about that. It's a good thing I'm a good actress in any situation unless it requires words. That's Peeta's expertise. I scale the tree to a low branch, staring at those below quietly.

They argue about how to get me down, or if I'm even up here, when Cato looks straight at me. Memories of the night of the interview flood my mind, and I'm temporarily afraid to face Cato again. That is, until I remember I have a bow. I refrain reluctantly from loading it, since I need to appear like this is planned. I shoot Peeta a glance that I hope he understands and reads as, "Just go with what I say."

He deserves to be ordered by me. I realize this as soon as my real reaction floats in mind. Peeta is controlling my life in the arena before I've even done a _thing_. Day _one_ and he's already trying to kill me. At least I was kind of hoping like a humane person that he wasn't killed in the bloodbath! Sweet, nice, friendly, boy-with-the-bread Peeta is gone. His true colors are shown. He's controlling, cold, and calculating, and I want nothing to do with him.

"Am I in the alliance?" I call down. I'm struck by how uneasy my voice sounds, and covers it up by clearing my throat unconvincingly. So much for being a good actress.

The next words hang in the air, bouncing around my brain as I am suddenly unaware of the owner's purpose for saying them. "Yes, you are," says Cato. Cato! What, is he trying to get me to kill and then keep me close so I'm an easy kill? I'm not an idiot, and am actually, genuinely surprised by how much he must think I am.

Well, it won't work. Maybe I'll be in the alliance, but I'll make sure my _best friend_ and _lover_, Peeta Mellark, is next to me when I sleep so I have a second's head start as they take him out.

Now, we're all in this going-to-kill-you square. At least, Cato, Peeta, and I are. I suspect by the way the girl from Two is staring at me that she is, too. I am going to get Peeta killed since he was going to get me killed, and then I'll run away. Peeta's trying to kill me. District Two girl's trying to kill the world, and her first targets are Peeta and I. Cato wants to kill me.

Actually, it seems that, really, I'm a target who's supposedly unaware of the plans. They're all targeting me.

"Make a fire," orders Cato. "Girl on fire, get down here. We'll hunt tomorrow."

For a moment, I think he means for food, and then, as I shimmy down the tree, I realize he means for us to hunt tributes.

I drop to the ground. I notice the girl from District One staring longingly at my bow. I think I remember her shooting in training. I stole her weapon. I allow the part of myself that's been adapted from Gale's personality so much from the years of hunting together to revel in triumph for a moment, and then push it away, not daring thinking of home, and Gale and Prim and my mother and Greasy Sae…

I learn the names of my "allies." The blonde beauty from District One is Glimmer; the deadly knife-thrower from Two is Clove; and the always-smiling but still deadly boy from One is Marvel. The way they all stare at me through the moments before we set up watch is curious and calculating. How well Peeta must fit in here.

An image of the girl's dead body with my arrow in her flesh rises in my brain, and I suddenly realize why they're hesitantly sitting near me while I clutch my bow like a lifeline.

Cato walks away from the campsite and out under the tree I was planning on residing in tonight. I wish that Peeta has kept his mouth shut and let me continue through these Games, _alone_, allying with no one but _possibly_ little Rue, who is so much like Prim. That's how I should be going through these Games, not here with the Careers. I imagine the reactions of my family and few friends back home as they learn that I'm allying with the enemies; especially Gale.

Next to me, Peeta is staring at me with a look of hope registering on my face. Eight eyes, four stares, and three death wishes. Because I doubt Marvel really cares. Cato returns and sits next to Clove and Peeta, just two seats down from me. I can hear the plots they all think as if they're being screamed across the campfire to me. And then the watches are set up. By Cato, of course, who has proven to already be the leader.

"For the first two hours, Peeta and Katniss," he starts, and I restrain a sigh. I'm furious right now, and it's affecting the way I think. "Then, Clove and Glimmer. Then, me and Marvel. Any objections?"

"Yes," says Clove immediately.

"Fine. Second two hours, Clove and I, and then Glimmer and Marvel," Cato says, giving in to Clove's wish easily. I think he knows I'm angry with Peeta, or I don't know why he'd otherwise keep the star-crossed lovers united. But I don't object, because I don't think I could get away with killing them all while I'm on the ground.

The others settle down on the ground while Peeta and I stay by the fire silently. Still sitting next to each other, I feel very uncomfortable and wish I knew what he was thinking and why he built up so much romance angled stuff for us to play out if he was just going to crush it. My bow is still at my side, and my pack is on my back. I decide to take an arrow out of my sheath, but I don't load it to the bow. I still have twelve of the fourteen arrows left.

"I could camouflage your backpack tomorrow," says Peeta.

"I can do it," I reply.

"Okay." There's a silence in which Peeta seems uncomfortable but I'm completely fine with. "I'm sorry for bringing you into this. It was the only way I could think of to protect you…" The genuineness of his words doesn't fool me. I know entirely well that Peeta Mellark is the best liar around. But he's scraping for sponsors. And I won't let him have them, even if it means I don't get any either.

"It's all strategy," I say with a forced sigh. "I know, okay? It's all strategy." And I'll leave it at that, for I know the Capitol will have _fun_ figuring that out.

**A/N: Evil things are in my head; evil things! Oh, how you'll all love those evil things!**

**Okay, so I'm thinking of incorporating other romances into this story. Vote for one in the reviews, please! **

**A. Clove and Marvel (doubtfullll, but still very possible, and I love the couple)**

**B. Clove and Peeta (totally awesome couple—I seem to always pair D12 with D2…—but I doubt it would work with the way I am writing Clove, but if you request it, I'll do it!)**

**C. Glimmer and Marvel (the most possible but the least of my favorites)**

**D. Glimmer and *restrains laughter* Peeta (I'm sorry to Gleeta fans out there, but… oh, wow… I'll write it happily if you request it, though!)**

**E. No more couples. I just like Cato and Katniss and working in another couple from their POV would distract from the… good stuff (meh, not as fun, but acceptable and a worthy point!)**

**Re-freaking-view! **


	7. Chapter 7: Rudimentary

**A/N: Hey! So, so many reviews last chapter! That's awesome! Anyway, I won't incorporate any more couples until later, so you can still vote. Right now, the top two are: Clove/ Peeta and no other couples, so vote between those.**

**Anyway, Katniss's last remark of the last chapter was harsh, but it'll lead into something soon. **

**Everything is, now, up to me on this story, with no real book to follow. So weather, deaths, etc may be different than usual…**

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens)_**

Clove and I sit at the fire for watch. Her eyes are glued to Lover Boy, and flick to Katniss, me, and the fire every once and a while, and then she returns her furious glance at Lover Boy. I watch around, actually paying attention to the sounds, and look at girl on fire, thinking about the interviews. What is it about her that makes it so easy for her to get in my head and fend off my attempts at doing so for her? 

"I want to kill him so bad, Cato," pipes up Clove. "And her." Her eyes flick to Katniss. "But at least she's of some use to us while she's in the alliance."

"If he dies, she goes, and we need her now," I explain.

"Yeah," Clove says stiffly. "_You _need her."

"_What_?" I spit fierily. _What_ is she indicating? That I like the person District _Twelve_ spit up and brought here? She can do _nothing_. She's okay with a bow, sure, but what's that in hand-to-hand? All of us are stronger than her! We could kill her in seconds. And I explain this to Clove, who doesn't say a word, but obviously agrees to everything I'm saying.

She nods her head, staring at the girl on fire. "That's your defense if someone said you couldn't kill her, Cato. What of someone saying you like her? What's your defense against that?"

"Everything about her," I spit.

Clove gets up, starting to walk towards where the line of trees begins again at the edge of our clearing. She shakes her head. Not knowing why frustrates me, but it's Clove, so half the time I don't, anyway. But this is different. This… These implications she has set on me and girl on fire makes me sick—absolutely sick. I don't see a reason why that would be the case whatsoever. It's like me saying Clove has something for Lover Boy—impossible.

"What do you think of her, though, Cato?" She smirks. "You finish the watch."

Her smirk gives her away, for once I see it, I know immediately that she just wants under my skin; she just wants me the squirm and squeal and get all wrapped up in the girl on fire until there's nothing left but a broken guy that can't kill his competition because he's not sure what he thinks. The only part that is true and that will ever be true is that I'll never know what I really think about her, but I can sure try, and try hard.

The watch isn't that much longer, and the most exciting thing without Clove talking to me or being peculiar so I have something to think about is a rabbit going by. None of us know how to hunt anything but tributes, and if something happens to the Cornucopia's bountiful meals or we can't get back to the Cornucopia, the girl on fire can hunt for us. We can make her. And sitting in a tree, waiting for something to come by, if she has to resort to such, is more than we can do on that and that only subject. Though I doubt our sponsors would let us get so hungry without sending something that we'd have to resort to squirrel and rabbit.

When it's finally over, I wake Glimmer and Marvel, going back to where I slept, close to the fire for warmth on this cold night. I lie awake because I'm still adrenaline-rushed and tiredness won't come. Luckily, Marvel and Glimmer start talking almost immediately and that keeps me from lying awake in silence, with nothing but thoughts that have become tired but still curious in my head—those being girl on fire and Clove. How annoying those two both are, and neither of them can I kill yet.

"I wish Cato would just let us kill them," says Glimmer. There are two requests for Lover Boy and girl on fire's death. Using them is a good way to humiliate them—especially girl on fire—for outshining us. Show the audience who they should really have put their hopes and shine on. So I'm not just going to kill them. It's like going down without a fight.

"Yeah," agrees Marvel. And there's number three.

* * *

When I wake up, unaware that I even fell asleep, it's to Glimmer shaking me. I roll my eyes and push her to the side, collecting my few things and getting up. Katniss puts out the fire and then we regroup and try to decide what we should do next, whether it's going to the Cornucopia and setting up a camp or going out to kill more.

"I say we make camp," demands Clove.

"Yeah, I do, too," says Peeta, followed by Fire Girl who briefly gives a terse nod, making me wonder what happened to her and Lover Boy on watch last night. More to take away _my_ sponsors I bet.

"Yes," says Glimmer.

"So, we going?" asks Marvel.

I turn around and lead the way back to the Cornucopia, looking up to the sun as a guide to what direction we're going, and then start moving accordingly. It's not going to take long to get back to our base, considering that we didn't venture very far last night, but the lovers might hold us back somehow. I'm sure they can find a way to manage it.

In silence, we make it back to the Cornucopia. No one is in the mood to laugh and run anymore, ever since Fire Girl and Lover Boy came into the alliance. It's a relief and a reminder of how big a burden they are—well, Lover Boy is. Girl on fire is here for my entertainment, revenge, and sponsors.

"Set up camp," I order absently.

"Why don't you?" asks Clove.

"Because I don't have to," I snap.

"Neither do I," she spits.

"No, you don't." I roll my eyes. "Just those four."

Clove and I sit down by the lake and watch as the others assemble a camp near us, lugging things back and forth from the Cornucopia. Then girl on fire tells Marvel something, he nods, and she sets off, to the woods.

I get up immediately taking out my sword, my feet scraping the dirt as I fly the distance in between Katniss and I. She's jogging into the tree line, her bow loaded and ready. _Did Marvel _really_ just give girl on fire to run off or even just hunt alone?_ I think. She needs to be supervised at all times, so that she doesn't run away. Just like Clove needs to be supervised so she doesn't kill on of them. It's really better to keep them close—

Clove is all alone with no more supervision than the two idiots from One, and Lover Boy. He'll get killed. And I'll kill Katniss before she can run back into her pretty little woods to live her days with that blasted bow. How the fuck does she even know how to use it? And _how_ did she get an _eleven _with that?

I stop and watch the girl on fire search around, almost certainly about to dart, when I speak up. "Don't go too far. The woods get pretty dense here in the middle," I tell her, startling her, and smiling when she jumps—the reaction I wanted. "I thought I might as well tell you that before we… lost you."

"That's kind," she comments.

"Uh-huh."

She scowls, looking at me. "I need aloneness when hunting. I don't like to be watched over."

"Oh, that's too bad, because I'm really not leaving," I inform her, smirking and sitting by a tree. "You know, we have food back there. You don't need to hunt."

She stays silent. She knew this. She was going to run. I guide her back to the Cornucopia, where a mediocre camp is set up. A few large tents are set up that we'll sleep under when we stay here. A fire pit has been dug and rocks have been set around it to give it a campy feeling or whatever they were aiming for.

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

There goes my rudimentary attempt at escaping.

I go back with Cato, furious that he followed me. Getting out of here as soon as possible is important. There was no way to get out of that tree yesterday, so even if I was thinking straight and didn't ally with them, I was treed. They probably can't climb, but we can all starve, and they could've sent people back to get food when they got hungry.

I sit at the lake, refusing to make the camp. But away from the killers from Two. Instead, I decide to watch the girl from One pout and look at the supplies, not daring to even lift a finger and work. I think it's a safe bet she won't win unless it's out of sheer luck. I doubt she's hiding mass murdering skill.

It takes about another half hour before the camp is set up. Two large tents, one campfire spot, logs around it, our stuff compiled around it and under its own third tent. It's an alright camp and luxurious compared to living in the trees for days. Though, I'd honestly prefer the trees, and more preferably, I'd take to going home—alive—for these next weeks to come.

Cato tells someone to start a fire so we can look through supplies for food, when it starts to rain. Peeta sets tarp under our tents and we pile under them; any attempt at eating next to the fire and planning what's to do next is gone. The tents are so close together, we can all see each other as we are under them. Cat, of course, devises the tent plans. I desperately hope to be hooked with those from One.

But the odds are never in my favor, are they?

"Clove, Marvel, and Glimmer are under this tent," Cato says. I can almost hear him gagging as he assigns the rest of us. "Girl on fire, Lover Boy, and I are in that one." He points to the tent I'm in. While some of us transport, I really take in how freezing cold it is. I zip my jacket up and curl in a sleeping bag that Peeta laid out. Maybe he's still somewhat like the boy with the bread…

No. He's not, though.

And there's nothing to do. Clove sharpens her knives. Cato stares longingly at the forest, keeping entertained by obviously thinking of ways to slaughter tributes. Marvel and Glimmer lightly chat about District One. And Peeta, who had the good fortune to bring food with him when he came, looking for me, eats on a nice feast of soup and apples with peanut butter and bread. Unless he allied with the Careers right after the bloodbath, the star-crossed lovers bit somehow got him a sponsors.

Surely it was for us. He did something to make up for what I said yesterday. I don't feel a bit bad. He deserved it. He's just being childish and not giving me any because I damaged our angle.

And I really come to notice how warm it is inside this sleeping bag, so I curl up and go to sleep, thinking of my family—even the dead—and think of a happy reunion. It's disappointing that such awful nightmares plague me after what great ideas and thoughts unfold.

* * *

It's late afternoon when Peeta shakes me awake. "They're out at the lake."

I nod. "Why…?"

"Swimming," Peeta answers coldly.

I get up and move past Peeta. If he's not giving it up, neither am I. I go to the lake. They are swimming. All except Clove. But it's not actual swimming—just splashing around in shallow water and doing dogpaddle. I sit by the lake, but not next to Clove, as Peeta wades as far away from the Careers as possible.

Though I'd love to swim right now, to feel the water and to imagine it's my lake back home, I'd really rather not try and explain it to the very questioning and curious Careers how I'm able to swim. The three Careers get out, dripping wet, and sit in the rain-soaked grass, drying in the newly-arrived sun.

I stare straightforward at the vacant field of grass as tall as me—probably taller. I wonder if it really is vacant or if some tribute chose it as their home and is reveling in either the safe haven of grass, or facing its terrors in their entirety, since all its terrors will be directed at the unlucky tribute. I don't suppose more than three chose that as their place to stay.

It really is a beautiful day. Too bad some other tribute is probably dying right now.

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. Yada, yada, yada—excuses, excuses, excuses. **

**Remember:**

**A. Clove/Peeta**

**B. No other couples.**

**REVIEW! I got so many last chapter—fifteen! Yay! **


	8. Chapter 8: Free

**A/N: Sooooooooooooooooo, who wants (needs?) another chapter? Yes, I know, all of us. **

**Check out Blood Dreams by _24 and 24_. **

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens) _**

Glimmer, eying me as I take off my shirt in the water of the lake, rolls her eyes and picks at her nails. Marvel paddles around, genuinely trying to swim. I got in here purely to get away from the hot, humid air. The Gamemakers must be turning the heat up very, very high, because I was sweating while lying down, out of the sun.

And honestly, I wanted to get away from that tent at all costs. Being stuck with two lovers from District Twelve under a tent all night in the Hunger Games? I don't think _anyone_ from District Two has even put any thought into being in that situation, because I sure know I haven't. I hadn't even put any thought to the district at all, ever, except that one day I'd probably kill one or both of their tributes. At least that's still in line.

"Cato, what're we doing for the rest of the day, heading out?" Clove calls from the side of the lake.

I sigh, because I really do want to do that; I really do want to get as far away from sharing that close of space with the star-crossed lovers as possible. But it's not exactly an executive decision. We're not yet prepared to head out for a trip longer than a day's length because of our newest guests, and it wouldn't be wise to go out for tonight, sleep out in the woods, and then come back before we even get to kill somebody.

"Yeah," I decide, "and two people are staying back to keep guard."

"When?" asks an excited Clove. "Who?"

"Can we finish in the lake?" Glimmer snaps at Clove, and then she starts to pick at her nails again. I have a feeling this is what most would call "Typical Glimmer." Especially since she keeps darting her eyes back to me. I put my shirt back on.

"We'll go when we're all dry," I answer, and get out of the lake. I go out to the sun, near where the two that didn't swim, but far from both, as Clove seems rather kill-happy, and girl on fire just isn't someone I feel like sitting by, since I'll eventually have to share a tent with her, no matter how much stalling by going tribute hunting I make.

I lie in the sun for a while, squinting as I rest on my elbows and look around. My sword is much too far away from me for my likings. Over by the lake, I see girl on fire spying it, and then staring off into space, or off into the woods at least. Suddenly it's a little darker than before. I look up and see the darkness is caused by a slightly grayer cloud than the rest passing by the star that keeps Earth and thereby Panem sustained.

It's about a boring hour full of sleep and boringness later that I finally stand up and say, "Let's go. Lover Boy and Glimmer, you two stay back. The rest of you, get a pack, your weapon, a canteen, and let's go."

In a matter of minutes, we're all ready and heading to the woods.

"Which way?" Marvel asks once we reach the woods.

"Left."

We're off. It's quiet at first, and then, even Clove has a seemingly permanent smile on her face. Of course, girl on fire doesn't. Even I have a sliver of a delighted smirk, which turns to a somewhat smile—more of just a joyful expression, no upward-turned corners of lips—as we get closer to something like the center of the woods. There's a twig snapping, and Katniss seems to go off in her little world, diverging from the group.

"Hey, get back here," I command, glaring at the girl on fire.

She lifts her bow. I scowl deeply, expecting another rabbit or a squirrel or something to be brought back to us. Marvel rolls his eyes and Clove clenches and unclenches her fists angrily. I've never really paid attention to someone shooting a bow, so I watch; I find it's kind of fascinating. And it's completely silent—even as the arrow is attached to the string, as I recall. The arrow slices through the wind, cutting through the air and bringing down the animal she thinks is necessary on the other end.

To my surprise, there's a cannon about forty-five seconds after I hear the arrow hitting its target. Surprised, the other two real Careers and I check to make sure our assumptions are correct, and to all of our complete bafflement, it is. A male lies on the ground with an arrow where his heart must be. I wonder, suddenly, who there is left.

"Who's left?" I ask, mimicking my thoughts from the second before.

Clove rolls her eyes. "No clue."

Marvel shrugs.

The girl on fire thinks about it for a second, and then tells me directly, "Marvel, Glimmer, you, Clove, the boy from Three, the girl from Five, both from Eleven, and Peeta and me." I'd imagine a girl blushing or something when saying their crush's name and then "and me" when they started dating them. Or whatever twisted version of a relationship they have, where they glare at each other like they're furious all too much to really be together, even if it was all a play.

"Ah," I intone indifferently, and then move all of us forward.

Today we'll trek until we can't anymore, until it is night, tomorrow we'll search, and the next day we'll make our way back. I have it all figured out in my head, ready so I don't have to think about it while I'm hunting.

Soon, it is night, and I make watch times while setting up my area to sleep in. I really have to decide between staying up for two hours with the annoying, endless journey that is three alone seconds with Marvel, the awfully boring and terribly brain cell-killing that is one second alone with Clove, or the girl on fire. Her explanation is indescribable, just very _her_. And that's not great.

Well, Marvel's out of the question, thank God, because if I match up Clove and Katniss for a watch, Clove will undoubtedly kill her, and Marvel would probably let her run away, and that means… You know, I can deal with Marvel on watch with her, really, if I threaten him…

"Cato." I hear Clove approach me from behind as I work the whole thing out. She turns me around, to which I almost reflexively draw my sword or pin her down or take hold of her head to snap her neck, and then relax. "Cato, I was thinking about watches tonight, and I think we should do individuals, and not for that reason. It's just, it'd be easier, and with the doubled watch thing we'd be awake for hours and have_ zero_ lasting sleep to run on."

"Oh? You actually need _sleep_?" She scowls at my comment. "Okay, but you actually care?"

"No, but apparently if I don't use a kind tone on you, you'll flip, and then where would we be, breaking the alliance? Yes, I can see that happening now." Sighing, she grips her knife the way she does like she's about to kill me, because she trusts _no one_, and slinks away, back to her little place.

I sigh. She does have a point. Hating that I'm taking advice from her, the one who'd do anything to please the woman who ripped necks out with her teeth, annoys me. And then the thought of Enobaria's encounters leaves me furrowing my brow in remembrance, for I hate that. I can imagine—and that is the disgusting part—the taste and the texture and the long-lasting aftertaste of neck flesh, and the fact that it's _damn close_ to being cannibalism.

"Fine," I say quietly, stepping over to the fire Marvel and Katniss are trying to build. Katniss just does it for him before he has time to strike a match. "Okay, eleven to one-fifteen, uh, Marvel," I announce. "One-sixteen"—I turn to Clove as I say this, because I know it'll annoy her—"to three-thirty, Clove. Three-thirty to five-forty-five, girl on fire. Then me until eight."

I settle down to sleep, and drift off meaninglessly to sleep.

Later, I wake up, and look to the sky for an approximate time. The sky said about… four, which meant who was on watch? I squeeze my eyes tight, waking up a little. I turn to see lots of brown hair, wavy because of a braid, being positioned back into a braid, a tighter one. She sighs and runs a hand down her brown locks in the regular style braid lightly, and then picks up her bow, running a hand down its silver surface.

I'm behind her, sleeping to her back, and so when I get up, she's startled, clumsily positioning an arrow to her bow and pointing it at me, but by the time she's ready and about to let it release, I'm sitting across the fire from her and she recognizes me. "Hey, girl on fire," I whisper across the flames licking up at the air.

"Don't do that," she snaps, not bothering to keep her voice down.

"What?" I smirk at her.

"Sneak up on me," she answers harshly.

"Be more alert next time, then."

"If I had been more alert, you'd be _dead_."

I look up at her, genuinely raising my eyebrows in a daring and questioning way. "Really? I bet you'd love to test that theory," I say, knowing she won't say a _thing_ back, and keep going because of it. "Like you _love_ Lover Boy, isn't that right?"

Silent, she used a long stick to move embers in the fire and as the wind changed, shielded her face from the smoke.

"What, did you say something, girl on fire?" Pulling this out, I smile at her, making it look genuine.

Not expecting her to say anything, I'm taken aback when she snarls at me, "I'm going hunting—I'll be back."

"If you leave my sight, I'll find you and kill you," I hiss. "And I don't trust you not to take off, so you better stay right here, because the _step_ you take away from this campfire circle, I'll kill you."

She looks up from the fire and straight at me, getting a lot of guts to say what she does next: "Isn't that what you're going to do to me, anyway? Just kill me real soon because I—I _what_?" she growls. "Because I had the fire costumes, because I got the eleven, because I know how to use a bow decently?"

"You don't want to go on, trust me," I warn, furious.

Fuming, she looks away, and then up at me smugly. "You're up—finish the watch," she snaps. "I'm too tired for it," and I don't really know… I can't be positive on this next thing. But I think, under her breath, as she buries herself in her sleeping bag, she says, "And your pleasant ass."

She's just begging for it.

Later, as I'm nodding off, back to a tree, I hear someone sitting near the fire and lay down, not even going to my sleeping bag, because of them. They'll take watch. Not like anyone would or could kill us anyway… I nod off entirely, exhausted.

"You're watch time," says a voice. "Get up." Bitterness drips off the voice, its wholeness of sound only propelling into my mind because of its terror, said bitterness, hate, the need for revenge, and, above all, the voice of someone talking to a real leader, their real boss. Someone they maybe, even in just a slight way, even in a twisted way, respect. I know. It's the same voice I use to compliment this voice's owner.

Though I'm breathing anger at her, I don't pin her down and take her out here. Final nine. I won't let her be part of the final eight. I go groggily to the fire. I already watched for part of her time, so I should be exempt from about an hour of mine. The arena life of a lead Career, the arena life of a victor.

Sleepily, I look at the fire and keep from its warmth so I don't fall asleep again. But then I realize what I did last night: What's an hour or two without guard, since we're Careers? And lay back down closer to the fire. Only what feels like seconds later, someone's shaking me, and those gray eyes that I've never really looked at stare down at me. "You exhausted me last night. You're not getting out of watch," says the grey eyes' owner.

"Oh, please. Get away," I growl.

"Come on, get up," she beckons, taking a few steps back from being right over me. Getting up, I follow her to the edge of the woods. I take out my sword. "Move around—it helps waking up."

I know—_I know_—this is another escape plan. She takes one step ahead of me, and I don't think I'm imagining it when her muscles take in a way like she's about to take off. I don't have the time to grab her back—

—but she doesn't have the time to back off.

Eyes widening, she steps back, and then squints into the forest again. "I really can't exactly tell, but I think there's a fire—_big_, _big_ fire—up there, and if I'm right," she says, taking a deep breath and nodding, "it's heading right for us." The bombshell explodes on me like a real one. Frantically, we wake the others up and explain to them what's happening. They attempt to just pile out of the area, digging their heels into the dirt to get a good grip as they jump off and sprint. I pull Clove back by the hood—something I will no doubt pay for in her little way without killing me—and call Marvel back. He reluctantly does as he's instructed.

We're close to the Cornucopia—that much I know. The fire, now that I really see it, is like it has no targets; it's like it has no one to let its fiery rage of nature burn in.

It's a decision the most brain dead of person, unless suicidal, would make.

"Let's get the fuck out of her," I command.

"You think?" Clove asks sarcastically. "No, I think we should stay, wait, let the two fires mingle, and watch, huh?"

I glare at her, knowing this is how she's getting back at me for yanking her hood: annoying me.

We start to take off, but then Clove and Marvel remember their spears and knives, and I remember my bag, and girl on fire remembers her sheath of arrows. Getting our things, we scatter around hurriedly, motivated by the fact that if we don't hurry, we have moments left of life—and all of us volunteered, and volunteered to _win_, even girl on fire.

Then the fireballs start to spit at us.

They come out of nowhere, ranging between eggplant- to apple- to pineapple-size, and the largest ones, the pineapple ones, send off grape-sized fiery debris. I think that the Gamemakers were hungry for or were having a lot of fruit when they designed this. We all dive, going left and right and left again, making no further advancement, and therefore sticking us here. What I don't get, though, is why they want to take out the Careers, and especially the ones that promise to make a lot of kills.

Unless it's brought on by someone else.

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

If it were just me, or someone like little Rue, or Foxface, or the boy I just killed, I would see the need for them to do this: so they could kill us off, because we were boring, not liked, dull, a liability, merely just someone to watch as they have a horrible death. But I've proven myself to be a killer like these others—something I'm not entirely happy about. And these are the Careers—why would they kill them, me, us, effectively erasing the Hunger Games from all giant "entertainment," and splitting up the star-crossed lovers of District Twelve before the audience even got to know if they made their mushy make-up scene?

Being smarter than the average Career, it can only mean one or both of two things: A), one of us—me or Marvel, probably—are useless to the audience's view of the Careers and are not liked in the Pack; or B), someone's near, but not in the path they think we're going in, that they want killed.

Either way, I apply survival over whatever loyalty goes in the Career Pack and decide it's every tribute for his or herself on this, dodging and running while the others are stuck _just_ dodging back at our camp. I guess those wild dogs and all the times Gale and I spent running from them _really_ paid off.

I hear a loud explosion noise, and see that's exactly it: a fireball hit the campfire—a watermelon-sized one, I think—exploding like a bomb. Not a big bomb. A small bomb. It knocks Clove on her feet, leaves Marvel staggering around, and takes Cato back like Marvel, too. Fire spurts from where the explosion went off, sending spits of fire at the three allies. And it's not fireballs. It's literally little strings of fire coming at them.

I turn away as one of them—I don't know which—catches on fire, and run off towards the way of the fireballs, off into the woods, exactly where no one will expect to come looking for me. Relief floods into me as soon as I know that I am free of Cato, of the Careers, of the threats and all, and that I never have to get so angry at a person that I blow up like that fireball did for a long time, hopefully ever again.

I got away.

A cannon fires.

**A/N: Ooh, awesome cliffhangar-like thing, right? Oh-so-totally.**

**Anyway, love it? Hate it? Tell me in reviews! I'm giving you this last chapter to decide between: A), Clove/Peeta; or B), no other couples.**

**Tell you what, though, all you Cleeta fans: If Cleeta doesn't win, no matter what, despite my poll, I'll write a Cleeta story.**

**Anyway…**


	9. Chapter 9: She's Dead

**A/N: So, new chapter? *waves chapter enticingly* Eh? Eh? Of _course_.**

**Anyway, in terms of Cleeta or no, B won. No Cleeta. Only by one vote. _But_ that means that I'll be taking down my poll on my profile about what story to do next and will have a Cleeta story after this, no matter what. Katniss and Finnick will have to wait for their love to flourish…**

**Besides, Cleeta is so much better than Katnick! But not Catoniss. No, that is the best ship in the whole dang world and you shall not question it, alright?**

**Anyway, check out Blood Dreams by _24 and 24_. Very important. Vital. It's as vital as me getting the money for the rest of the Maximum Ride series. I'm dying for ****them…**

**Also, Katniss's POV really explains more about why she forgave her mother. I don't know, but it just seems like in Catching Fire she was like, "Uh-huh. Yep. Not really mad at you anymore. La-dee-da-dee-da! I'mma go kiss Cato and Finnick—I mean Gale and Peeta!" Yup, that's my interpretation of what she was like.**

**I'm not sure how I spit out two pages of Katniss POV, but I did it, and, if I may so myself, it's not horrible. I thought it was going to be utterly _boring_. But… it isn't.**

_**D2- 17- (Cato Allens). Who **_**freaking **_**else?**_

A cannon fires suddenly, but there's no time to do anything about it or see who. Someone with me is still on fire, I think. Batting it out. I can see them flailing. But that's about the only thing other than the fire that I see. Spurts of the flaming redness pop out at us constantly. A faint saying in my head breaks its way through the confusion. _Do or die_.

I realize that if we keep just jumping around here, the die part of that saying is going to happen to us. So I yell out, "Follow me!" as loud as possible and brace myself for the worst. Looking back, I assess those still with me, and realize Katniss isn't one of them. And with all the scorching rage from the fire, I can't tell if both Clove and Marvel still are. Oh, shit, this is really falling apart.

Then the fire just… _stops_. Very abruptly. Its motives are clear: Kill Katniss. Though I'm angry I didn't get to, I'm glad she's gone. It's obvious it was here. She ran off into the woods and a fireball blew her up. I know that's what happened. It's what _had_ to have happened. I go back to where my allies are. Surely it's both of them. Katniss is dead. Katniss is dead.

For some reason, that brings no relief. I can't put a finger on it, but some part of me doesn't _want_ her to be dead. It's completely absurd. Two people can't leave the arena—only one can. And if two _could_ win, my choice to win with me would _not_ be her. I'm absolutely sure to no exact end that it's because I was dead-set on killing her myself, making her life end myself, closing her eyes, stilling her hands, and turning off her breaths. Myself.

"Clove, Marvel," I call out. "Hello? Situation!"

"Cato," croaks a voice.

"Clove? Where are you?" I search the area, looking for that other brown-haired girl. Emerald green eyes stare up at me. She's way burnt. And her burns look bad, to the best of my knowledge, which might be small in the case of burns, but is alright. "Oh, my god, Clove, what happened?" I know what happened, though. She just looks so horrible right there that it's preposterous that such a well-trained, deadly Career look so horribly hurt like this.

"What do you _think_ happened, smart-aleck?"

"I'm not being smart-alecky, Clove! How the hell did you get so burnt?" I snap.

"The fire hit me, dumbass! Just help me up and let's get to the Cornucopia," she tells me, lifting a hand for me to help her up with and wincing. "There'll be medicine there. And we better hurry. Marvel's either dead or going quick." She looks around. "Where's fire girl?"

"Dunno." I help Clove up. She freezes when she stands up, shakes her head, and then walks to her knives. It's hard to miss the way that she keeps flinching in pain. "Come on, let's find Marvel and get _away_ from here."

"No dip," Clove snarls, sighing. She looks around, walks around, looking for Marvel. I do the same. We call his name. No answer comes. _Was it him?_ I think. _Is he the one that died?_ Soon, the fire will probably come back. We can't waste time to know. I guess I'll have to wait until tonight to find out if it was Katniss or Marvel.

Confusion sweeps through me. I don't know why. But right now, I don't understand or get anything going on. All I know is that the girl on fire is either gone or dead, and Lover Boy's cannon will soon sound either way, because I'm killing him. Clove and I barrel through the woods. She seems very clear of thought, whereas I'm contradicting myself on the matter of girl on fire being dead. It is better that she's dead, honestly. I will admit—she does seem like strong competition. But still, dead? I was supposed to kill her, right? It was almost like my mission or something. And now that she's dead, I have no _real_ competition besides Clove—whose weaknesses I know too well for her to have a chance. And the boy from Eleven, maybe—whose strength will provide him with a reliable fight, but there will be no trickeries that I won't be able to overcome in a battle against him. Ultimately, against the girl on fire, I would have the most fun and the best battle.

And I wanted that battle to be mine.

Once the logical answer is set in my mind, I feel better, less confused, less conflicted. Still, I'm angry about her death. It was no one's but my job to take her down, and now that's… gone.

When I see the woods lessening in thickness, I motion for Clove to come faster, and then start sprinting at top-speed for the golden horn. I tell her to get her knives out and I pull out my sword. Since I can't have girl on fire, and Clove's proven to be a valuable weapon and asset, I decide to settle on letting us both kill Lover Boy. Telling her the plan, I see that she's immediately in on the plan and revel in my good leadership skills and decisions. Later I'll have to put those to good use for finding Marvel's body, alive.

Once we're finally outside the woods, I look back and see a hovercraft over the trees where we just left. Collecting Katniss's body. In the anger of my "mission" failing, I look away and sprint towards Lover Boy. He doesn't notice at first, as he's eating with Glimmer in a lawn chair of sorts, his back to us. I get a good plan and flash a smile to Clove, so she understands. Nodding, she slows down just slightly, letting me take the lead.

When I reach him, I flip his chair back, startling the life out of him. He calls out, yelling, fumbling for his knife. I motion to Clove and stand over him. She joins me in standing over him with a smirk and then I drop, placing my knee against his chest. This knocks the breath out him, to which I smile in the glory of. Clove kneels down, grinning evilly, and we all know that there's nowhere for this District Twelve rat to go.

"Poor you," Clove whispers softly, a soothing tone in her bloodthirsty voice. It shocks me. I look over at her, and, seeing her evil grin-like smirk, look back at Lover Boy. Playing with her prey. Very smart, advisable. "All alone in death. No one you care about is near, Lover Boy. What to do now? Call out for girl on fire, huh?" All kindness has fled from her voice and is replaced with bitter rage, evilness with flickers of the voice from someone who desperately seeks revenge, though I don't know why she would against Lover Boy. But I won't question it.

There are basically two reasons I'm allowing Clove to help in killing this kid. One is that I don't want to endure the no doubt annoyingness that would be what she did in revenge otherwise for me yanking her hood back at the fiery camp in the woods. The other is that she's really good at taunting her prey and making it a show, long and painful for the victim, whereas I can lose my patience and just kill them. That's what she's going to do: torture him. Then when I lose my patience, I'll kill him.

What I really like to do is inflict wounds that hurt and will take days to kill them, incurable ones.

"Go on. She's got that bow," Clove says meanly. "She could kill all of us from the tree line of the woods, right? Call out, Lover Boy. Call out to your precious lover!" Clove holds a voice that would make any prey so angry they'd scream and consider resorting to biting. If they were brave.

He's much stronger than her, though, so when he starts to struggle against her grasp, I shove him down and put my sword on his neck, hard, threatening silently to slit his throat. "Don't. Move," I command roughly.

"Katniss!" he croaks, satisfying Clove, who smiles.

"Oh, that's right," Clove hisses, sounding like she actually just remembered. "She's dead."

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

The thick foliage has gotten me basically nowhere. I've had to go back to the tree line and sort things out twice an hour, and I haven't slept a wink since last night. Once as I'm heading back into the thickness that's directly across from the Cornucopia, not in the direction I went after the bloodbath, I hear a low, choking "Katniss!" I hesitate, realizing who it is, and then _run_. If Peeta's seen me and is trying to lure me out, all of them know, and are back. _I have to get out of here, now,_ I think.

I load an arrow, and in my sleepiness, get it on a little less fast than usual. I can run on adrenaline, if I've had enough to eat, and, since I've been with the Careers, have had enough to eat. There's the one good thing that happened because I joined the Careers.

But now I have to find a place to stay and set up the rules for my own Game. I've been playing under Peeta's and the Careers' and the Capitol's Games that they all set up for me for a long enough time that I have no idea where to start in mine. One, I guess, is find water, no matter what. Two, I can't stay anywhere too long. Not when I'm being hunted. Three, no allies from hereon out. It's too risky when they could be in play for the Careers.

Maybe that's my newfound paranoia talking, but in these Games, paranoia can never hurt.

Diving into the thick trees and brush, I turn on my hunting mode senses and take light, near silent steps, moving as fast as possible, ready to pull back my bowstring and shoot in a second's notice. I realize I don't have much to drink, since I got the smallest canteen. That figures, since Cato passed them out. But I have iodine and another canteen in my pack. All I need now is a water source.

Who knows where that could be, though? For a fleeting second, I'm terrified that the lake is the only source. But then the surface of my bow in my hand reassures me that I can take them out from a long ways away. And then the lake can be mine. And, so many others have lasted this long without coming out to the Cornucopia. That means there has to be plenty water sources, since they haven't all killed each other by now.

By now. I wonder what day it is. In my head I count them out. Bloodbath, the day we went out hunting, and today. Day three. _Only?_ I think. I thought it was somewhere around day five. Or maybe day three hundred sixty-five. It feels like it was _years and years_ ago since I volunteered for Prim, or even just saw her at all. And about five years since I saw Haymitch and Cinna and Effie. I'd give _anything_ to just see _Effie_ again, if it got me out of here.

But who I really long to see: Prim and my mother and Gale. I don't know why, but it really just seems that after all this, after losing all three of them for so long, I kind of forgive my mother a little bit more. She loved my father so much. She was _in_ love with him. The way she missed him is like how I miss Gale and Prim and her all in one. I don't know. I guess if I lost all three of them so quickly like we lost him, I'd go into a depression, too.

The running never stops, it seems. There's no time for hunting and barely time to load my canteens when I cross a teeny-tiny stream of running water in a clearer space, where there are few trees and brush and plant life. But there are also traces of a tribute or two residing here from not too long ago. The real giveaway is the blood pool, but other that, it's only things that a hunter would pick up. The clumsy hiding of a bloody leaf bandage. The very faint footprints leading in the direction I'm heading.

I've determined by now, after staying in this little place for a moment, that no one's following me. But someone's near. Very. The pool of blood is too wet to be from even a day ago. More like early this morning. And it's too big for someone so injured to make it far enough away. I'd say that if the wound wasn't on their leg, they got up to two mile and a half to three miles at most. With my pace, I should run into them soon.

I think for a second who it could be. And whoever left this trail of blood might be the person who died earlier, if it wasn't Clove, Cato, or Marvel. Anyway, Thresh is in the field. The Careers are at the Cornucopia, or going back after giving up in their search for me, or somewhere else in the woods but going in the wrong direction to find me. That leaves the male from… Three, I think, Foxface, and little Rue. I actually don't want it to be Rue. She really reminds me of Prim, a lot. If we happen to be the last two, which I think is a practically nonexistent possibility; I don't know how we're going to handle who wins if that happens. Split up and see who survives longest, see who survives the mutts that _will_ come after us?

It's quite surprising that she's actually made it this far, though. Being from District Eleven, I expect her to be good with plants, but she must have had to not only just survive, but escape, too. I think back to her interview with a slight smile as I start back up again. She had said, _"I'm fast. And if they can't catch me, they can't kill me."_ It's remarkable anyway, since I'd assume the weaklings would be some tributes' designed targets. The remarkableness somewhat fades when I remind myself it's only day three again.

At day three, the lifetime of _years_ before we get out of the arena drag on.

**A/N: Fast update, huh? Well, review and you might just get another quick update! After all, I'm sucked into this story as if I were reading it and not writing it. It practically writes itself. It's, like, my prized story…**

**Anyway, look at that freaking new review button! I don't really like it, but you all should! And even if you're like me and prefer the old reviewing system, you should review anyway. You should, yuh-huh. So get to it, would you? **


	10. Chapter 10: Revenge

**A/N: Hellooooooo! I'm back and here to say not only the words of Katniss and Cato's undying love, but also this: Check out Scream by _Dances With Vampires_. It's another 24/24 collab. And it's gonna be totally awesome! Trust me on that, m'kay?**

**When you're reading this, think about how different it all is just because of two things: One, Peeta thought ahead and had one condition for helping the Careers find Katniss. And two, Cato and Katniss got their heads in the game and realized that they like each other, kind of. Lot different, ain't it?**

**I've got a lot of surprises and one—maybe two, if you're lucky—cliffhangers in store. As someone who reviewed one of my other stories said: Cliffhangers- As a writer, you love them; as a reader, you hate them. But it's okay, because this is Catoniss. All can be forgiven, am I right? Am I right? Of _course_ I'm right. *is all conceited* **

**Rue is _not_ dead. When I kill Rue, it's gonna be tragic and sad and I will "honor" Rue, so to speak. I promise. I'm not just gonna be all "Ope! Rue is dead! La-di-da-di-da!" Killing Rue like that is like killing Cinna, period. Not Finnick. Finnick is _way_ above Rue.**

**And always remember: I love tragic romances *evil grin* **

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens)_**

Quivering with fear, Lover Boy looks up at and straight into Clove's eyes. "That's right, Lover Boy; she's dead," she snarls. I bring the sword tighter to his neck. He starts to choke. "Wait, Cato, I've only just begun speaking. I haven't even drawn blood." Then she clutches her knife and scrapes it across his forehead as he gasps for breath once I've taken the sword away from his neck. The audience must be captivated. "Don't like that, huh? Huh, _Lover Boy_?"

I look up at Clove. She sounds like she's about to explode, like she has so much reason to want to kill this boy that it'd take days to explain. I don't know what she's been through in life, but whatever it is it gives her motive to want to destroy the entire arena. It gives a glint in her eyes that just screams that there isn't enough tributes for her to slaughter, like there isn't a sharp enough blade to be thrown; there isn't a dark enough day for her kills to see.

It's vicious.

I don't like it. Because there isn't enough things to make my kills suffer with, but that doesn't mean I have to treat life like it needs to give me every person in history of the Hunger Games for me to kill. Sure, I might like to relive or go back into the Hunger Games once I've won, but I don't want my world to revolve around dreaming of the deaths and the ways I could have and can make my kills suffer. Life's life, and for me life is about the Hunger Games, but I only am allowed twenty-three people to make suffer, and if I have to make that do, I'll make that do.

Clove is inhumane. She's completely and utterly a machine. I don't think that there is a feeling bone in her body. Her mind focuses on calculating the logical way to kill someone and making them suffer, and that she needs more, more, more people to draw blood from. She needs a lifetime of people to drag her knife through, and that's all she cares about. She is psychotically obsessed. Her viciousness is something that no one but her would ever wish to obtain. Mine, on the other hand, is perfect and will take what it's given, though if I could, I'd kill double the amount of tributes in the arena. If I could and if I was given the opportunity.

She then punctures Peeta's cheek. Then his lips. Then his arms, hands, his abs—and then she says, "You take him, Cato. I'm done."

I sigh and decide for a moment whether I should decapitate him, or if I should puncture his heart of stomach, or if I should give a wound that will be fatal and long, and then throw him in the lake to drown. Maybe an arrow in his heart would be nice if the girl on fire didn't take Glimmer's bow, and then I could decapitate him and let him drown in the lake's depths. I smirk as something pops in my head.

"What do you think, Lover Boy? Decapitation? Stab to the heart? Stomach? Drowning? How about all four?" I growl, staring down at the idiot's face. To think he ever thought he could make it as a Career.

He croaks. When he does so, I can see the blood coming from his neck. The deed is already half done, so it seems. I put pressure on my sword for a moment and then lift it as he, mouth wide open, turns over and vomits on the ground, blood in the vile bile. As he's turning back over, I step on his back and push my sword all the way through where his heart should be. His cannon fires and I walk over to throw him into the lake. Once I've done it, I return to the Cornucopia.

Glimmer stares in awe. "That was amazing, Cato," she whispers, a smile coming on her face.

The late afternoon sun is temporarily blocked by a hovercraft coming to pick up the boy's body.

"I know," I say back to Glimmer, and then go sit in my tent, realizing how much energy today's events took out. "Everybody, over here," I call to my allies and sit up, pretending that I'm not dead-tired. I wait as the rest of my allies come over. There are only three. Four, actually, since girl on fire is dead and we only need confirmation tonight before we go out in search of Marvel. We need a guard, though. Everything's drastically falling apart because of _her_.

I don't know what to feel about her right now. I don't know whether I should be angry at her, or glad she's dead, or disappointed that I didn't get to kill her. I don't know what to think at all right now. The smoke from the fire has clouded my thoughts. I don't know what we're going to do, or how we're going to guide our supplies, or what our next move is. I also have a major headache, which doesn't help any of the confusion caused by the smoke.

Once Glimmer and Clove are under my tent, I realize that I'm going to spend the rest of the Games with a psychopath and a stereotypical dumb blonde that can't do a damn thing in these Games except file her nails and flip her glossy hair. I think that in about three days tops, it'll be time to split the Careers. Looks like I'll not only have to try and think as the leader of these two, but I'll also have to prepare for splitting from them, or, if things go wrong, kill one or both of them. And that's when I suppose all hell will break loose.

As soon as I finish that thought, I realize I just planned all that as if Marvel was dead. I can't, somewhere in me, accept that the girl on fire is dead. But I have to. After all, she is, and there's no changing that. And even if she's not, I'm going to kill her. I desperately seek revenge against that girl to the point where I hate the thought of her dying and not under my watch, not because of me. That's how far under my skin she is.

She must love taking over my job.

If she's not dead, I know I'm going to flip, and if she is, I'm still going to flip. Maybe the Careers will split tonight.

"Listen, we've got to prepare ourselves for searching for Marvel," I announce, and Clove smirks. "What?"

"You want to find that idiot?" She laughs. "Please, let him die!"

Glimmer nudges Clove. "No," she snaps. "What if we did that to you?"

"I'd come back and kill you all," Clove tells us simply, honestly. "But the difference is, you see, I actually _could_."

"Please, so could Marvel."

"Shut up!" I bellow. The girls turn back to me. I only barely notice that Clove has one of her smaller pocket knives are in her hand. Something only I would notice from training back at the Career Academy for that type of thing so I am prepared, and because I've been with her for long enough to notice when she has a knife in her hand. Call it self-preservation.

"Shut _up_," I repeat. "How about we don't find Marvel, then? How about I just sit around here for a while with two girls who can't kill worth shit, okay? How. About. _That_?"

"Get over yourself," Clove says. "We all know you had a crush on girl on fire by the way you stared. So give it, get over yourself, and go drown in the lake, why don't you?"

"_Excuse me_! It was all to get in her damn head, Clove! Not because I liked a rat from Twelve! Now shut up, be a good little Clove, and don't bother me, since you're too incompetent to be able to comprehend, let _alone _carry _through _on, anything else I might tell you to do," I snarl, scooting closer to her, spitting rage, fury replacing the blood in my body. "You're a little kid, Clove," I taunt, continuing. "I'm in charge. Kids are best seen and not heard, remember? In this case, killed with no screams."

I completely forgot about the knife in her palm, so, with that, I earn myself a knife to the chest. I don't even think I'll be alive to watch to see if Katniss is dead now, but if I am, I'll be knocked out or in too much pain to notice and-or care. I'm basically dead, killed by a little girl, and never getting my revenge on Katniss Everdeen. I'll be dead by morning.

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

A cannon fired earlier, and another fires just now. I don't know why after all he's done, but I want to think that Peeta got away, and that he's safe off in the forest somewhere. I guess I just have unresolved feelings about the bread. I really want to thank him. After all, it wasn't only my life that bread saved; it saved Prim's, too. Poor, sweet, little Prim wouldn't be here if it weren't for the kind boy with the bread who was gracious enough to save three lives in risk of a beating.

Later, when night falls, I'm dreading the Anthem. Once it does play out, I take a deep breath and look to the sky. The boy from One died. He must've been the one who died in the fire. And then the boy from Three died—he must've been the one who left the pool of blood this morning. So that means Glimmer, Clove, and Cato are alive. Neither of those names marked as "alive" bring relief. But even the relief of getting out of the arena right then couldn't drown out the grief that the next face brings.

Maybe Rue would bring this grief, too. Maybe even Thresh. Probably not Foxface. But it doesn't even matter. Because the name printed up in the sky with the same picture that was presented for training scores makes what little history we had useless, wasted mush. His simple, unsmiling face lights up the arena with the slight glow that the real moon would.

"Peeta," I whisper as his face leaves, along with the simple, mechanic, computerized lettering saying "District Twelve" does, which only confirms my suspicions. Maybe the boy with the bread truly did say that he loved me, not the twisted boy out to kill me. Maybe somewhere in the messed-up but kind mind, he truly was trying to help me. I'll never know, though, because he died. And I could've saved him, went back and got him, repaid him for the bread. But I didn't. I had a big enough head start. And maybe it would've resulted in a minor wound for me. But he saved my life once, and it resulted in his injury.

"That's the difference between you and me, Peeta," I whisper, feeling broken. "I'm selfish. I don't realize I could have and should have done until after the time is up, where you—you think about it way before." And with that, I say goodbye to the boy with the bread forever, because ultimately, no one's ever going to speak to him again, see his kindness again. _Who's going to decorate the cakes now, District Twelve?_

It sickens me that Cato or Clove or both of their faces were the last he saw before he died. When he called out for me earlier… he really needed me. And I could've helped him. I wish that I wasn't so foolish. I wish I didn't play the exact game the Careers wanted me to play. At least I got away from it, and that diverged from what they wanted. I guess if, during the interviews, the boy with the bread was telling the truth, this is what he would've wanted anyway.

He never did think he was a contender.

I want to see him. I want to see Cato. I want to shoot that pretty little Career smirk right off his face and shoot his allies, too. For, the unfairness, the unjust, the sickness of it all—I know all that, and I don't like it; in fact, I hate it, and I'm not glad I was a part of it, but am happy I got away from it when I did. Anyway, I know all that, but now—now it's personal, and vengeance is a dish best served cold. And I want to serve that dish; I want to fight fire with fire—and who better to fight fire with fire than the girl on fire?

My plan is set. I don't think I can turn back now. Not after this. Not after Peeta's death.

Right now, I can't do anything, so I climb up a tree and belt myself into the sleeping bag from my pack, becoming instantly warm. Tomorrow I'll find water. I'll find camp. And I'll stay. Because I have my bow, and I am therefore unstoppable in these Games, especially since I want revenge. So I'll stay. I'll wait for Cato to come, and when he does, he'll never go anywhere else, ever again.

I try to sleep. But nightmares don't allow me to. In them are glimpses of Peeta. And that day, the day he through me the bread. Only, after he throws me the bread, his mother comes out before my eyes and morphs into a sickening Clove-mutt. The mutt claws his eyes out, and then shreds his face. But the sickening, grotesque Peeta still screams, and it's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen.

_"Katniss!" _he screams. _"Katniss, save me! Why won't you save me, Katniss? Why didn't you save me?"_ I can detect that his screams are oddly in a very singsong voice. _"Why did you let them kill me, Katniss?"_

And then the worst thing possible happens. I wake up screaming, in the middle of the arena during the Hunger Games, when three deadly vipers are out to steal my blood and they'll do whatever it takes to get it.

Tears welling in my eyes, but just little enough that no camera could pick them up in this light, I remember I have my bow and that I want them to come get me. I decide that now's the perfect time to go find a place to stay anyway, though. I'd rather fight them up in a tree, but really, I don't think they heard me. I got pretty far, and if they were killing Peeta, they must've thought I was dead. They aren't going to come until they're rested. I know. It's one of the few good things joining the Careers brought me.

I pack up and scurry down the tree. Once I'm on the ground, I immediately position the arrow to my bow and pull back. I walk for a second, quietly, trying to determine that I'm alone. When I think I am, I let the bowstring relax but keep the arrow there and try to be as ready as possible to pull back in a second's notice with today's events hanging on my shoulders.

With Peeta's death on my shoulders.

Then I hear a twig snap. I pull my bowstring back clumsily. My fingers are a little shaky. I look around in the direction I think the noise came from. I start to inch closer, for I don't see this person as a threat. But if Clove, Cato, or Glimmer jumped out right then and caught me off guard, I'd be a goner, even with my bow. There wouldn't be enough distance for me to shoot.

Blending into the darkness and a bush, I see little Rue is the person who accidentally snapped the twig. She winces and fades back farther into the bush. That reminds me more of Prim than ever. I smile as Rue starts to crawl out the other side of the bush. Before she can dart off—because I know she's fast—I call out quietly, "Rue, wait, I won't hurt you."

She turns around, a scared look in her eyes.

"It's okay, really," I whisper. "I promise."

She creeps forward slightly.

I smile a little wider. "Come on, I was just looking for some water. Do you know anywhere?"

She nods. "The river is a little bit away, but it's got a lot of water and protection," she explains.

"Well, come on. We are allies now, right?"

She looks taken aback. "Yeah," she whispers. Then she sets her eyes on my mockingjay pin. "Beautiful pin. There are lots of mockingjays back home. They're like my friends. There are lots here, too."

"Really? I haven't notice many."

"I'll point them out," she offers.

"Thanks."

Before we set off, she tells me she needs to get in a tree for a moment to make sure we're going in the right direction. I oblige and climb too, but wait for her on a branch in the middle of the tree she chose. I watch as she climbs higher than I could and then… And then she poises on her tiptoes and leans forward like she's about to take flight. Like Prim does. Then… she actually takes flight…? She jumps from tree to tree. That's probably how she got the seven in training. I smile.

She finally comes back and when she does she tells me the first good news other than getting away from the Careers all day. "We're headed in the right way."

And then she leads the way to our "safety."

**A/N: Eh? Eh? Love it? Hate it? Review! **

**Peeta, right? Don't worry, Cato's better. Am I right? Am I right? I'm right.**

**Anyway, sorry for the long wait, thanks for all the reviews, and I'll try to update soon, and next chapter I'm thinking that maybe Katniss would start to get a little confused about Cato, eh? If he's still alive, that is.**

**Because I love a tragic romance.**


	11. Chapter 11: Temporarily

**A/N: Okay, I had this chapter written up. Cato's whole POV was written, typed on my phone… It was, if I may say so myself, gorgeous. My best one yet. It was going to be my chapter for the ages. I loved it. The details were great but not too detailed. His questioning of the way he never once did this or that before he died… the way he kept thinking of little, tiny bits about Katniss here and there. It was my best chapter ever.**

**The sending failed. And therefore, the chapter—or half, at least—was lost. I had so much planned to develop off that chapter! **

**So now I present you the less-quality chapter, because when I try to replicate writing that I've lost, my patience grows to the size of a neuron. And so this is my neuron-sized-in-patience, normal-quality chapter. Why do I always write my best when I end up losing it?**

**Now, before I start the chapter, I gotta give the reviewers some credit, 'kay? Just skip this if you don't review or don't care:**

**CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal: Thank you :)**

**sundragons9- I was sad writing it. Who wants to write such an awesome person's death? But Katniss can't love Cato if she's stuck to Peeta like glue, now, can she? And face it, Peeta and Katniss was a match made in heaven, but Cato and Katniss are just better. XD**

**Shoney- Thank you! I love all your reviews that you give for this story, and I saw the other review in my emails, too, but not here. Odd. But anyway, yes, Clove is a huge sociopath. That's what I was going for this time around. Don't worry, though I think Clove is _way_ awesome, she will get what's comin'. Karma.**

**glowXembers- I know, right? Cato is awesome. But it was either kill Cato and write a ton of Peeta and Katniss make-out scenes in the end, or the other way around. You gotta do what you gotta do XD I knew his death wouldn't be popular. **

**Guest- Thank you for the review! Anyway, yes, it's gonna bite her in the butt, if she comes home. Remember how I kept saying I love tragic romances? What if I get them together, and then kill one of them off and let the other go home? You never know. **

**Loveurfanfics- Aw, thank you! **

**NYCstarlet- Thanks. It will be soon. You know, kind of. **

**Katniss Is Boss- First, may I just say, I love that name, "Katniss Is Boss." Second, thanks for the review. And I'm glad everyone's still with me after all this distaste for Peeta's death! He was, like, the third-hottest guy from the books, though. Cato, Finnick, Peeta. Anyway, the make-out scene shall or shall not (I cannot say due to this chapter's content) come, and I think a POV from Gale that recaps the whole Games and his thoughts on Katniss's actions at the very end might be granted. I like that idea. I probably will do that. :) **

**And last, but certainly not least: Clatoforever- Now, I love that your name is Clato on a Catoniss fanfic's reviews, and that's not sarcasm. It's very ironic. And yes, their relationship is rather… um, difficult and stubborn right now, but let's just say that the relationship will be huge in one of their hearts within, oh, the next five chapters, and I have no clue if I want to kill that one yet, but it's just a date for if I don't. The other, who I really don't want to kill so fast, will start getting kind of confused within the next chapter probably. **

**I shall shut up now so you all can read the story and not my blabbering. **

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens) _**

I never thought I'd die in an arena.

But my death is so obviously upon us. It's looming over me evilly, grinning darkly, horrible and shallow, intent on ripping me away slowly and patiently. I nickname it Clove. The thing brings back the world to me and I'm no longer living in oblivion for the rest of my short, unlived life. Pain seeps back. I realize it is pitch-black outside, and what I'm lying in doesn't feel like the tent Clove stabbed me in.

Then I remember. Actually, no, I just remember a light, delicate hand retrieving the knife and two people putting me up on something, and then I just remember it feeling like I was flying, a searing pain burning me up all the while.

A wind blows over me, making the "Clove" thing leave my sight and returns me back into a painful, woozy oblivion.

My heartbeat is far too fast one minute and dwindling the next; my head soars and aches excruciatingly; my mouth is very dry; I don't think I can open my eyes; my legs feel numb; I can't remember if I have feet; and the worst damage: my chest. The knife didn't seep into a fatal part of me like my heart, but it did pretty good so that I'd die long and slow. I have to give her credit, for this is a perfect way to kill a tribute. It's how I'd usually do it when not just stabbing them.

I feel myself drifting off. But suddenly I open my eyes and see the twinkly little stars up in the sky. I watch them make noise like wind chimes. Then the chimes get louder and the moon gets fuller. I blink for a second and when I open my eyes, the chimes are growing louder and louder and the big stars that are twenty times the size of the balls of fire that either killed the girl on fire or Marvel today fall down on me. The light is blinding. As they get closer and closer, I realize they aren't going to stop; they are going to come down and crush and burn my dying body alive. Once they reach about five feet, I start to scream and scream and scream. Three yards, one, a foot, ten inches, two…

I wake up, panting hard.

Now I know I'm going soon.

_"Don't go, Cato."_ A raw, heavenly, unearthly voice whispers from inside my mind. The voice is broken up and almost sings these words at me. I don't know if I know the voice, but it says so much, and it makes me think about so much, and I love the voice. The voice is beautiful. The voice is quiet and soft but forceful and strong. The voice may or may not be real, but it's so great that I decide I love the voice and if it has a real live owner, then I love its owner, too. In love.

Being in love was never something I was allowed until after the Games. Having girlfriends here and there when my training wasn't so thick I let myself have, but had to hide it from my parents and my brat siblings that would tell my parents about. I snuck around with girls all the time and actually liked a few a little bit for real, but I never was allowed to be in love or love a girl, and I wouldn't have let myself, anyway. So the feeling is all-new and… indescribable. Unexplainable. Purely something everyone needs to feel in life. Pure in general.

And then I think of training to be a Career. I have no regrets on that. I did what I was destined to do, what I would be destined to do if I had learned to shut up more often. But what I do regret is never dreaming of anything but the Capitol and my parents' dreams. I never set anything up for myself in life except winning the Games, which, in the end, would make me a very bored victor and would give me a boring but famous rest of my life.

Now… Now I'm dying. In my head, I know each breath could by my last, each thought my dying one. So why are all of them, when not containing memories and thoughts about family and friends, about the girl on fire, the girl who got an eleven, the masterful archer, the _volunteer_ from _District Twelve_, Katniss Everdeen? Why are so many about her?

There's no answer to any of my questions, and there never will be.

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

Rue and I hit the lake in early morning. Soon after we started off last night, she needed to rest and I needed to hunt, so she curled up in my sleeping bag up in a tree and I took my bow out for food. I was distracted, so all I got last night from my hunting spree was a lost young squirrel that had too many injuries to count and was impeccably easy to snag.

Once we're at the lake's feet and continuing our travel's in its wetness, we start to talk quietly again.

"What were you having nightmares about last night?" she brings up, and I look down at my feet, visible through the shallow, clear water.

"Nothing." I brush it off like I would when telling Prim had she asked me, which I know she would have. It's another thing that makes Rue just… like… Prim.

"Was it…" She thinks otherwise before saying this, and then she just looks around, and for a moment up at me tentatively. "I can't imagine seeing Thresh's face up there, but… it must have been worse seeing his."

I smile softly, looking at little Rue. Her eyes are gentle and sweet as she genuinely tries to help me feel better about Peeta. I don't think I ever will, but he and I never got fully along, because of me, and he had little chance, because of me, and two people couldn't win, and it _couldn't_ have been him, because of me, and my stupidity. The point is, I need to forget Peeta, forever, no matter how hard…

…and I need to sleep. I barely slept at all last night. But Rue isn't tired and I don't want to hold her back. I'll just eat a little more today for energy. That means hunting, which means we need somewhere to stay, which needs a perfect guarantee the Careers aren't following us, and that means we need to spy on the Cornucopia, but that means moving away from here and not getting to hunt and eat and rest up, and not getting all that means no spying, and no spying is risky, and spying is risky… It's all one giant loop.

"You look tired." I look down at Rue. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

I smile a little. "I'm fine."

"No, you look tired. Really tired."

"I _look_ tired. I'll be fine. We just need somewhere to stay while I hunt." I look around for the perfect tree to stay next to tonight. I want concealment that's up high and not on the ground, where I'm most vulnerable. There are none I can find with a high enough fork in the branches too near me, but there is one just within the tree line. I mark it as home for tonight and use the knife Clove threw at me at the bloodbath to cut a slight notch down low in the tree. The knife I've just remembered. The marking I've seen Gale do when the fence's electricity turned on while we were in the woods.

As soon as I think of Gale and our woods, and then look up at Rue/Prim, and then hear Peeta's scream bounce in my head, and remember the bread, and think of all that, all of that associated with my home, I feel a lump rise in my throat and walk stiffly over to Rue. With a smile, I assure her I won't go far and I'll be back within an hour. But as I do, I can tell I sound distant, absent. Like my mind isn't here, and it's not. It's in District Twelve.

I start to walk away, fastening an arrow to my bow.

I'm not in a good hunting place. Because usually, hunting can clear my head, but this time it's only going to give my head more room to roam. And roam it does. When I spot the rabbit I narrowly miss, I'm thinking of if I were just three years older. If I were nineteen during this reaping. And there was no way I could volunteer for my little sister when she was chosen. If Peeta protected her for me—he would have either protected her or sacrificed her—and gotten her safely into the woods, and she allied with Rue, then she might've stood a chance. Even without Rue. But the chance she would've held would've been at survival, not winning. There's a big difference.

And when I approach a mess of fish in the water so thick that I couldn't miss one if I tried, my thoughts begin to be occupied by Gale Hawthorne. I hold my breath, looking down at the fish, holding the bowstring back. _What would Gale think about me being in the Careers?_ The moment I think this is the moment I let go of the arrow, but the thought makes me jerk up and the arrow go berserk. _Oh, God. What… what will Gale think if I ever see him again? Will he be mad at me?_ I go get my arrow.

Returning with nothing isn't really an option, but I'm so overwhelmed in my situation. I have a Prim replica to take care of, and it's not like both of us can win. The boy who saved my little Prim's life once is dead, and I could've helped him, but I was too stubborn and selfish and shortsighted to see that. And now here is Gale, hanging over my head, yelling at me for all my stupidity. I know that's not what he would do, but I just can't get the image out of my head.

And Haymitch! The sponsors! How do I have none? Well, I know. I didn't save my star-crossed lover. I left the Careers. I allied with an undesirable twelve-year-old. That's how. But surely I had sponsors at some point, right? And I've gotten no gifts, nor has Peeta. Therefore, there should be tons of money for gifts. But I don't need anything, really, though a nice, large Capitol meal would be nice.

Since my mind is so off-balance, I decide to just ration the little amount of food I had from the Careers and the greens I'll collect with Rue when I get back.

It takes about five minutes to reach where I left Rue. She's up in a tree, eating some greens. I smile, shimmying up the tree. When I'm up there, I sit on a branch near Rue. She looks at me expectantly. I give her a dismayed look.

"I didn't get anything," I admit. "But don't worry, I—"

That's when the large, delectable Capitol meal falls from the sky.

I pick it up from the wedge that's in the middle of a branch between one and mine halfway next to hers and mine. I open up the basket of food and find that there's a landslide of deliciousness in here, one that—if we're cautious—could last us a full five to six days. Rue looks down at it with the same hunger I do. Because neither of us have eaten in days, maybe a full week, and we're used to going hungry—well, I am, maybe she isn't—but after all… that… Capitol food… this is too amazing to pass up.

So rather than trying to save it in small little intervals and have something here, something else there, I decide it wouldn't hurt to just make it last two or three days. I can hunt. I have my bow. No worries.

It is a meal of chicken and little colorful jelly squares. Then there are these brown things with colorful candies off to the side of them. There are also two thermoses of soup and a jar—not a thermos—of lam chunks on top of lamb stew. In a world where I have to hunt for my food all the time and I still go hungry a lot, this is the most heavenly and amazing thing—ever. It even has plates, bowls, and silverware.

That's what saving up gets you, I guess.

I give Rue a little bit of lamb stew in a bowl and give the same amount to myself. I give both of us the same amount of chicken, jellies, and candy on a plate, and hand her one thermos, warning her not to eat all of the soup in it.

"Thanks," she says sweetly, her eyes wide as she gapes at all the food we're getting here in the arena.

I nod. "We need a plan."

She looks up in mid-chew. "Huh?"

I nod. "I'm tired of playing on the defensive side of things. As you are, too, right? Or not being in the game at all. Let's find a plan to play on the offensive side."

"Really?" She finishes chewing.

I nod, slurping a spoonful of the potato-y soup. "Any ideas?"

She shakes her head, then looks like she's thinking, frozen, and nods. "Um, I guess we could take the Careers' supplies. Some of it, at least. Hide it out where Thresh hides. Only two are left. I don't know where the boy from Two went, but he's not with the Careers. It's just the two girls."

I nod. Where did Cato go? Is he dead? Well, I don't think I'd mind much if he were dead. He killed Peeta. I have no doubt that it was him who killed Peeta, angry with me for leaving and killing Peeta because he's the closest thing to me in this arena other than me. I'd like to avenge Peeta, though. Since Cato's off dying or being stupid and leaving the Careers—I'm most certain he could win if all he had to do was kill, but now that he also has to _survive_, he's doomed—the next best thing would be to make sure Glimmer and Clove had less and less chance each time we stole from them, because I'm sure they helped Cato kill Peeta.

"Katniss?"

"Oh. Yeah?" I look up at Rue.

Her tone quiet, she points up and whispers, "There's one. A mockingjay." I smile when I see it, its feathers shining in the light. "I told you I'd point one out."

I nod. "Thank you. Can you sing to it?"

She nods. Then she purrs out a four-note melody. Another mockingjay joins the first on its branch as she does. They stop for a second, and then belch out her whistle, liking it. It's almost like a compliment from them, saying they like it. But her sweet, pure, soft voice is so beautiful and kind that anyone who could hear straight couldn't help but think how nice her little voice is.

I smile deeper. "I can sing, too," I blurt out, in the moment, not really thinking. "Well, kind of."

"Really? Would you?" she asks as the birds teach each other the song.

I start to shake my head, and then look up at her, think of how awful this must be. It's one thing for me to be in here, in the arena, but she's so young, so pure, and has now _experienced_ and seen people die with her own eyes. Like Prim would. If I didn't volunteer.

"Sure." I try to think of something to sing. I suddenly sing the Valley Song, a song I haven't sung since I was, oh, maybe five. It comes out, and for a moment, I think I might hear the birds fall silent, but then the song ends and they take up the tune immediately. It must've been a hallucination—me hearing the birds fall silent. I'm not the great of a singer.

"That was amazing," she, almost in awe, compliments. "At home, we sing all the time."

"You do?"

"You don't?"

I laugh at this lightly. "We rarely have time back home. You do?" I repeat.

"Oh, yes, all the time. That song I sung to them? I even use that to signal the end of the workday back home," she explains. "Music is my favorite thing."

"Oh." I giggle again. "Here, you want a lamb piece?"

She nods eagerly as I put some on her plate. She devours them, and as do I.

And maybe Peeta's dead. Maybe Gale might hate me. Maybe I won't make it home. Maybe I am now close to this little girl and it'll make it that much harder when she dies. But right now, all that's almost okay. Temporarily.

**A/N: Sorry for the late update! Check out WriterFreak101, specifically his story, "More Than Just Pieces." And 24 and 24's "Blood Dreams." And Rikachan101's "Fear."**

**AND REVIEW!**


	12. Chapter 12: Getting What's Wanted

**A/N: Hey, guys! Low review count last time… Make up for it on this chapter, eh?**

**I don't blame you, though. I'm not ecstatic on last chapter's outturn. **

**Anyway, thanks to all my reviewers last chapter, and I will now thank them personally and all like I do. Makes for a super long A/N, I know, but sometimes I just don't have time to PM and this way is just easier.**

**glowingXembers: Lol. Me, too. It's a wonder how I did it without eating everything in my house afterwards. XD Thanks :) I absolutely _love_ writing his character. And what Katniss and Rue will do will cause an interesting chapter _whenever_ that comes. Lol. What happens to Cato is pretty undecided to me. I can't think of it. But no fear, I have a few ideas. It's just a matter of getting them in gear.**

**sundragons9: Well, no one did. It was his dying and lost imagination playing tricks on him.**

**CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal : Thanks :) Your reviews are always awesome. **

**Mace: Aww, thanks! Gosh, I'm sorry I got you into trouble. I'm sure my story's not _that_ good, lol. But I'm so glad you thought it was worth it. I hope next time I update it'll be at, you know, a _decent time_—I doubt it, because I like to write late—so you don't get into trouble. :)**

**Now, THE STORY!**

**_Okay, if you freaking don't know the POV pattern by now… XD_**

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens)_**

_Get back to the camp._ Step. Step. Ow. _Ow_. _OW!_ Stop. Break. Breathe. Regain feeling in limbs. Repeat process.

For three hours.

I've decided I have to get back to the camp. Even if Clove kills me, which she won't. She won't. Over Glimmer's love-stricken dead body she won't.

Oh, I'm in danger.

It's a suicide mission at worst, an attempt to save my life at best. Oddly, those two things, when you think of their differences, are not so different. Utter and complete differentiating things is what they could be considered as, but when faced with having to go on the mission that includes that, and having examined it with the thirty-six five-minute breaks I've taken in the past three hours, I've come to know that they're merely… opposites. Not antonym phrases, just… opposites. That's all. It actually does help to think that.

I keep going. It might take days, it might take weeks. But I don't care. Healthy or not, I'm going to shove it in Clove's face that she didn't kill me, and if I make it out of there alive—which I will, because I _have _to win—I _will _ make her suffer when I get better. It has to happen. Otherwise, I'll just… I don't know. Fate won't be up to me if I don't. I have to if I want to win. I can't die.

I don't think it's really up to me for which happens anymore.

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

"Rue, this is nowhere near where we came in…" I whisper, crouching down low, relying on the memory of a terrified twelve-year-old to get me out of this deadly situation.

What got me into it was: Early this morning, before the sun had even risen, Rue woke me up, told me we're closer to the Career camp than we thought; that we were going in the wrong way and were actually headed in the direction that was closer to the camp. She said that by the position of the sun, we could get to the camp in time and see if the Careers were out. If they were, they would still be asleep by the time we got there and we would have just enough time to start stealing their supplies and taking the risk of depositing it in the field where Thresh resides.

"The Careers won't come in here, Katniss," Rue reassures me uncertainly. "And Thresh wouldn't hurt you if you were my ally… I don't think so, anyway. I hope not."

I nod. "Yeah. It's fine. I think we're near the way out anyway," I lie for the sake of Rue.

She crawls forward, brushing past the grass that's getting shorter and shorter. Then, all of the sudden, she just stand up—just bursts straight up—and I'm tempted to pull her back down. But then she tells me to stand and look, too, that we went over by the hill that falls downward far in what I saw as the distance when standing back at my tribute platform before the bloodbath.

I look up and see that it is probably noon. The occasional bird tweets. I stand up with Rue and see what she sees, my eyes widening in shock. I watch as a tribute staggers along the barren field of grass, totally and completely vulnerable, wounded, a gaping, infected wound covered with dried blood and a missing part in his shirt showing me this. At first, I almost smile triumphantly. He deserves this. And then I realize that that makes me just as much a killer as he is. No, he's still more of a killer, but it doesn't make me a perfect, angelic person.

It's Cato.

I pull Rue down, ready for this to be a staged act. She's smart, so she knows to stay down. I think the only reason she was staying up was because she was dazed at the sight. I am pretty dazed, too. I mean, Cato is the perfect picture of a Career: virtually indestructible against all the tributes, strong, a complete brute, extremely egotistical, and handsome, definitely someone the Capitol women would flock over.

Did I really just think that? I'm so worried I'm getting a bit delusional. And I'm dead tired. If I weren't so adrenaline-pumped and in disbelief of what I just saw, and if I were lying down, I would be out in a matter of five seconds.

"That's Cato," I whisper to Rue. "We have to get out of here—now."

"Katniss, he's hurt," Rue says, starting to inch up to peek at Cato. I yank her down. "He can't hurt us like that. He's going to die really soon."

"I don't care." I do peek up at him. He looks distant and pained. He continues to walk along, and then he just stops, hunched over, taking deep breaths, clutching his wounded chest. I have to wonder how he's not dead yet. "He's dangerous," I whisper to her as he starts to barf. He is very far worse than I would think for his wound, which means the infection is very bad. "Let's get out of here."

But… it's not that simple.

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens)_**

I look over, having heard a faint whisper. In my desperate state, I think it might just be my imagination, but I look over nonetheless. I see a flash of brown hair as the person it belongs to falls to the ground, now hidden by the grassy terrain that none of us Careers dare venture into. I won't now, either, but I kind of want to see who it was. It'd be nice to take a break, after all. I have no energy since what little food I had in me that was fueling me forward… I just puked up.

So I sit down, staring at the grass, the sky, the trees way back. I listen to the birds, for movement, more whispers. It may even be Clove, and she just doesn't want me to know that she needs me and needed to come get me. Actually, that makes sense. She was whispering to Glimmer about what to do, and when I looked over, she, with her brown hair, shot down so she wouldn't be seen.

"You can come out," I call over to the green-brown grass. "I know you're there."

There is one shuffle, as if someone has just fallen, and I decide that it was clumsy Glimmer and stand up, starting to stagger forward towards the grass. Once I actually get in the grass, I start to call out for Clove and Glimmer to come on out. When they don't, and there is scrambling above me, I start to wonder why they don't get up… until I realize that isn't them. It could be an animal, or another tribute or alliance. So I start to slowly back up, until the two finally stand up and start to run. In the tall grass, I can just barely make out a braid and the top of a bow, but no ally. Just her. But…she's dead. Katniss is dead. How can she…?

"Katniss?" I blurt out. "Katniss! What are you…doing?"

She continues to run. So I take a deep, painful breath, and start to run after her. She's much faster than I am, especially because I'm wounded. But eventually, something trips again. Then it gets up again, and starts to run after Katniss. I'm able to nearly catch up during this, and then I just throw my knife down somewhere near their feet. It doesn't hit flesh or anything, but I think I got the bottom of her pants. She has to yank out the knife, and by that time, I'm just close enough to grab the back of her hood, unaware of what I'm going to do.

"You're dead… How are you…here?" I mumble.

"Rue! Get out of here, Rue!" Katniss screams.

I furrow my brow. Rue… Must be Katniss's ally, and the thing that kept tripping.

A little girl's voice rings out something I don't pay a lot of attention to, because I'm mumbling about Katniss being dead, and then I hear footsteps running away. I turn back to Katniss and mutter about the fire as she scowls at me, looking straight into my face. I furrow my brow again, and then start to look at my feet, thinking about the dreams and thoughts I had about her before I got up and started to walk back to the camp.

"You're dead!" I finally say, addressing it to her so that she might answer back.

"No. Marvel is dead. I escaped." Her closed but yet still angry and defiant face shifts from a scowl to a look of pure hatred, her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed. "You know who else is dead, Cato?" She pauses; she is letting me think for a second, sift through my jumbled mind. Then I realize it: She's mad about Peeta. I sigh. She nods. "Mhm. Peeta. And _who_ killed Peeta? It was _you_, was it not?"

I frown. "No. Well, kind of. Clove was torturing him because you got away, and then I put him out. Senseless to torture him when he helped us, though he was pretty much a burden in the end. It was mindless." I shrug. "I was losing patience. I just ended it."

"How sweet," the girl on fire snarls. "How would you feel if it happened to you? That torture?"

"I _ended_ it, girl on fire," I remind her. "Remember that." I sigh, rolling my eyes, and gesturing to the near-fatal wound. But it's not fatal. No. It can't be. I'll get back to the Career camp. Glimmer and Clove will help me get a little better. And then I'll win. I'll win these Games, and I'll take home the crown to my house in the Victors' Village.

"I've already experienced it, Fire Girl." She flinches at the nickname. "Clove tortured me, than tried to roll me off a cliff, or just leave me to die, and now I'm going back. And you're coming."

"You're delusional," she hisses.

I smile, and then I smirk. And then I start to laugh and laugh and laugh, utterly hysterical, a laugh that will never end, one that never had a purpose at all. It's a loud, cackling laugh, unlike mine, and it almost seems to echo around us. Insane—that's what it is. It's from the mouth of a person who has lost their mind, gone so crazy that they're not aware of it. It isn't my laugh; it's someone else's laugh put into my vocal cords. I'm sure—_absolutely_—that it isn't mine, and I'm not insane, crazy because of the aloneness and the possibility that was very real recently of death, pushed to the deep end because of one comment made to the wrong person at the wrong time.

"I know I'm delusional, girly," I whisper.

"I'm the one with the power now. You don't know how weak you are, and how bad that wound is. _I_ do. I could kill you right now, and you would barely be able to fight back," she growls, her teeth barred like fangs. I'm starting to wonder if I've been recently infected by tracker jacker venom. "What do you want to do? You can't run. I have a bow. You can't kiss up to me. I'm too furious with you."

She's so strong, and brave, and willing to help that little girl while I try to kill her. Well, my intentions weren't to kill her. I'm not sure what my intentions were. I focus on her olive face, shining in the sunlight, her gray eyes, with fire in them, but only the color of the smoke that comes out of the fire is projected. Her face is firm but soft, the look of a scared and sympathetic person as they experience something they hate, something that's only happening to her, saved and stocked up and preserved just for her.

It's almost…

Beautiful.

"That's not what I want," I get out.

"What isn't?" She looks up at me, cold fury in her eyes, but also something else. Something that I saw in the eyes of Lover Boy when he looked at her when she first came in the Career Pack. Curiousness.

"I don't want to kiss up to you."

I shake my head, and then think about what I do want, why I thought she was beautiful… It's all so confusing… I thought she was beautiful? Was it just my psychotic mind telling me _insanely_ idiotic things? Or do I really think she's…beautiful? I look back up at her, trying to decide. I…don't know. I wouldn't say she was perfect by a long shot, or radiating the beauty of someone you would just randomly meet and walk up to because they were really pretty, but she…is…she is just naturally beautiful, I guess. I think so. Yes. She's just beautiful, with her tanned face that still manages to look like perfect doll's face, and her long, soft-looking braid, and even the tribute uniform complements her. I think back to the interviews. Then… that was pure, honest, furiously radiance. She was…gorgeous. I don't know. It's like some part of me started to slip that night, and now…

And now, after all the insanity of all, the most feverishly psychotic thing that could happen has. I think.

But it doesn't matter how many times I could like, love, be in love, with someone, because we are in the Hunger Games, and only one person can win. I have to win. I have trained and worked on this my whole life. I have wasted part of my life and lost so many things I could have had for this. I have to win. Don't I? Isn't that what was meant to happen?

But though that tugs at me with all its might, something else does, too, and maybe stronger.

The need and want to have Katniss Everdeen _mine_.

And I get what I want.

**A/N: YAY! We can start getting into the good Catoniss stuff… you know, when Katniss falls, too. Sorry that this update was late and that Cato's realization was kind of… meh. BUT IT HAPPENED. I MADE IT HAPPEN.**

**So now you might want to review to tell me how I did? Eh? Yep. *nods***


	13. Chapter 13: 'Blackmail'

**A/N: Check out Blood Dreams by 24 and 24, Rikachan101, WriterFreak101, CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal , the epic bookworm, Megalor9… if I told you everyone that I thought was a good author that had some great stories you should all look into, we'd never get to the chapter. XD**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter! A little Katniss hints. (Meaning: a little, teeny-tiny hint that Katniss herself doesn't pick up on that she's starting to like Cato.) And of course, CATO LOVES KATNISS! *squeals* XD**

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens)_**

She looks up at me, a scowl filled with raw hatred and the need to kill me on her face. I've seen it time and time again on several others' faces, and I've seen her scowl angrily, but I've never seen Katniss Everdeen give me an expression of such emotion and darkness. It nearly sends shivers up my spine as I look deep into her fiery eyes, their smoky grayness turning silvery in the light.

"What do you what from me, then?" I hear her words; they make it into my mental capacity. But my brain can't process them; it's as if they are some complicated rocket science problem that I have to figure out immediately. I stare at her blankly, thinking, getting lost in her stark beauty. "What do you want from me, Cato?" The way she says my name…it's extremely hateful. "Answer me!"

"I _want…_ Do I really have to _want_ anything from you?" I ask, ruminating on whether I should _kiss_ her, kill her, or let her go. The former seems to be tugging on my sleeve like a little child the more urgently.

"Because you're a bloodthirsty _Career!_ Because you're _you!_"

"Oh, so you know '_me_'?" I smirk, wiggling my eyebrows involuntarily. She raises her eyebrows and her hand shoots straight to her knife. I grab her wrist and pull her arm away from the knife over to me. "I _have_ to want something?" I start to laugh again, the hysteric levels inside me rising again. "Okay, I'll want something! Will blackmail do?"

I let go of her wrist. As soon as I do, she tries to run, but stumbles. I grab her arm and lift her back up as she bores her fiery hate into my soul. I shiver again. Then I focus on the emotion in her eyes, like she thinks I'm about to kill her. I know I've seen it over and over again, but this time it almost hurts, because…I think I love her, and it's really awful that she hates me… I shake my head.

"_What?_" she demands, and then she looks around the field, struggling to turn around while I grip her arm. She must be looking for her ally, but I think her little ally was pretty swift and sly, so she must've gotten away quick and easily, and the grass is too tall for either of us—even me—to see that far to where the little girl must be. Her voice takes on a hollow tone because of this last information that we both have realized. "Blackmail would be nice."

I chuckle slightly, and she's taken aback by it. I raise my eyebrows as if to say, _What, I can't laugh?_ She seems to pick up on this and shrugs. I smile and look down at my feet. But out of the corner of my eye, I can see the bloody wound and feel my knees go weak, the pain returning, and the adrenaline I didn't know I had in me subsiding. I point to my wound, then flinch because of the pain of the touch to the still-healing wound. I let out a shaky sigh so I don't scream my head off in the pain. It still hurts my lungs and hearts, makes my chest feel funny. If I exert myself too much, as I've realized, it makes my heartbeat even hurt if it's thumping hard enough.

"Heal me, I guess." She looks up at me, a surprised look on her face. Then her eyebrows raise, and as fast as they rose, her face takes on a scowl. I feel like I've known that scowl my whole life. "Take me in and heal me so I stand a chance again, and I won't kill you unless…" I can't think of a reason why I'd ever kill her anymore. It's so, so stupid. "Unless we're the final two. If you don't"—I put my hand on my sword—"I'll kill you now."

"Fine. _Fine_. I'll '_heal_' you," she says, doing air quotations with her fingers when she says the word "heal." "Alright? I'll do it. But Rue is in the deal, too. Unless you, Rue, and I are the last three, you can't kill h—"

She's interrupted by the deadly sound of a cannon.

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

Immediately my mind drifts to Rue. I wriggle out of Cato's distracted grasp and start to run, picking up my bow and darting off into the grass. I immediately load an arrow. As I run, I start to panic more and more. "Rue!" I call out as loud as I can. It almost sounds shriek-like, really squeaky and high-pitched. "Rue! Rue, can you hear me?!"

"She'd be too far, Katniss," I hear a voice behind me. The voice is rough and shaky and deep, like _his_. Peeta's _killer_. I don't bother turning around. "Hey! Come on back. We'll have to find out tonight."

"No. I have to find her, whether she's…dead…or not," I say back, softly. Then I hear the footsteps behind me stop, know that Cato's exerted himself, that he can't move forward. I start to pile on the speed further, not caring that it is speed—not distance—that I'm really built for, and especially not both combined. But I can manage both of them for the time being, so I keep going.

"You might get killed!"

I nearly stop in my tracks. When did Cato ever grow a heart? I shrug without turning around and pick up my speed again, still yelling for Prim—or, Rue. Rue is my Prim, though. She's like her so, so much. I just can't let her get killed—not now, not so quickly. She has to be around here somewhere. She can't be the one dead. It has to be her district partner, Foxface, or, preferably, Clove or Glimmer. It _has _to be.

Off in the distance—way, _way_ off, like a distant memory—I hear a little girl scream back my name, clear and sweet but frightened and in need. _Rue,_ I think, and pile on the speed, screaming at the top of my lungs that I'm coming. "Hold in there, Rue!" I shout, cupping my hands around my mouth. I listen to the echo of my voice in the clear, blue-skied day, the clouds drifting lazily around the setting sky as the day falls farther from noon.

"Katniss!" a male voice bellows behind me. I roll my eyes. He can't stop me. "Katniss, stop being so stubborn! It could be a _trap!_"

"It's not," I hiss under my breath, panting hard, adrenaline replacing my blood.

Step after step, breath after breath, heartbeat after heartbeat, I slowly become aware that Rue's voice is getting more distinct and louder. I'm getting closer. But I need a break so very bad. My lungs ache and I'm nearly breathless, my breaths coming in short gasps. I decide to stop, for just a second, and turn around. Suddenly I become aware that the grass is taller than me, maybe the size of Cato. I might be me hallucinating it because of my lack of oxygen, but I think I see a bouncing tuft of spiky blonde hair barreling toward me, resting, and then barreling again, far off.

Eventually, I think I can hear shuffling and whimpering. I start to cut grass with my knife, and when I realize that that's futile, I start to call out rather quietly, "Rue, are you are here? Rue?"

"Katniss." When I hear the airy word being uttered, my heart leaps.

"Rue, how close am I?"

"I…I think… I don't know, just keep looking," she croaks out.

As I search, I continue to talk with her, ask her where she went to, and then I finally hit the big question: "What happened?"

And she explains. After she ran for a while and snuck around, she caught up with Foxface. Foxface somehow got her hands on a knife and was trying to kill Rue. She almost did; she was near as fast as Rue and with the same agility. But Rue's life of working in an obstacle course where agility and speed is essential paid off. But so did Foxface's sneakiness and cunning and sly tactics. Somehow Foxface managed to cut Rue's arm, but Rue tripped her, and then called out for me or Thresh, and at that I time I would've still been talking to Cato, probably just talking about his blackmail and such.

Her call to Thresh went well. He came barreling through the grass having recognized Rue's voice. He meant to go after Foxface but accidentally landed a blow on Rue with his machete, right on her side, near her stomach. Then he apologized for several minutes as Foxface, still dazed, gained her balance. As Rue lay writhing on the ground, Thresh knocked Foxface down and killed her, and then ran to get her body away.

"He offered to come back and try and help me a little before we separated, but then I heard your voice and told him it was okay, that he could go and you'd help me," she explains, her soft voice shaking, her breaths ragged, her eyes bloodshot like she's been crying. Her dark face looks pained and sad.

I look down at her wound gravely, having not seen it well, but then perk up almost immediately. Since my mother is an apothecary, I know a little bit about healing, but not much since whenever a patient with merely a _cold_ came in, I ran off to the woods with Gale, not wanting any part of the healing. It made me queasy a lot of times. So how I manage this is unknown, but I do know from the times that I did stay and from the episodes of Hunger Games I've seen on television that this wound is easily healable, but it might take some time. A week or so. She'll be up and ready to get active in a few days, since the wound isn't deep. Blood loss is her main issue, but if I patch that up, I think I can get her nearly fine soon.

It's a totally different story from Cato's wound.

It's not even tangible. I saw the way he flinched when he merely touched it. The infection is getting worse. I won't tell him, but I don't think he has a lot longer until the infection enters the bloodstream and she develops blood poisoning. As it is, if he doesn't get a sudden spike of sponsors soon, or doesn't get to the Capitol soon, the wound could kill him—and quick.

Suddenly Rue freezes, her eyes sticking on something behind me. I look behind, grabbing an arrow as I turn, but then put it back, seeing it's Cato, my new "ally." I'm going to make sure he sleeps on the _ground_, while Rue and I are up in the trees. I don't trust him worth a crap. I eye him suspiciously though there's nothing to be suspicious about, and then turn back to my real ally.

"It's fine," I say gently, sighing. "He is our…um, he's our ally now."

She looks up at mew, completely shocked, and I give her a slight, nearly imperceptible nod, and then stand up. I tell Cato to sit down so I can properly inspect his wound, gagging inside my head as I inch closer to him. _Why did he make me do _this_? Telling me to commit suicide would have been a better thing for him to say than this,_ I think.

"Um…" I look at the bloody hole in his green shirt. I can't see the gash suitably enough. I'm not telling him to take his shirt off though. But what else is there? He's too close to Rue and I—he could easily kill us before we had the chance to dash off. Looks like I have to dive in and go for the worse first, and then merely tell him to put this leaf on his chest later, or tell him to take this soup. Or if the Capitol caves, I'll have to make him rub on the medicine or take it—whichever is necessary.

"Cato, I…I, uh, can't see the wound right, so…you're going to have to…"

"I get it." He smirks. "Don't hurt yourself."

"You're so annoying sometimes…"

"Ditto," he says, lifting his shirt up with a wince. I cringe at his wince; I hate pain. I'd just like to put everyone out of their pain.

Once his shirt is all the way off and I can completely see the bloody mess where Clove stabbed him, I flinch. It's disgusting and…it has some…pus…and a ton of blood. I can barely look at it. I wish Rue weren't hurt so she could do this—I think I recall her saying something about her being an okay healer.

I look up at him and see he's studying my face.

"What?" I ask, tempted to trace my finger around the wound.

He shrugs. "I'm waiting for a reaction." He laughs a little bit. "I sure got one. You look green."

"You look needy," I throw back. He rolls his eyes. I look down at where the blood dripped down to. His abs—perfectly defined six-pack abs—are a mess with blood, but not as barf-inducing as the thing that made them bloody in the first place. I let out a heavy breath. _I can't do this,_ I think. _Prim's the healer like Mother; I'm the hunter._ "It's bad, that's for sure."

"No, I thought it was a tiny scrape," he says, sarcasm filling his voice as he looks deeply at me. I look away from him and focus back on his chest, abs… I shake my head and look through my pack, not finding what I needed. "What are you looking for?"

"A first-aid kit, some bandages, cloth—something along those lines," I tell him. I look over at Rue as she tiredly looks at us curiously. "Do you have any cloth in your pack, Rue? I'll need some for both of you."

She shakes her head, and then points to the wadded-up gray cloth around Cato's waist. I nod. Then I look back at the confused Cato as he looks back and forth between us and manage to crack a smile. Pointing to his jacket, I sigh, and reach for my knife. Instinctively, he grabs my wrist immediately, and then lets it go, realizing I'm going to up his jacket, not him.

"Your IQ surprises me, Cato," I say to him as I cut the jacket to strips I believe will work for the occasion.

He rolls his eyes when I look back up at him, shredding through the article of clothing. I'm almost taken aback by how casually easy this is—sitting here with Rue and Peeta's killer, trying to heal both of them. I put it aside. I have to devise a plan to get Cato out of here before he gets too comfortable.

**A/N: _And his shirt comes offfffff! _Heh. SO should've been in the script of the real movie _somewhere._ Am I right, am I right? **

**Anyway, two words: Re and view. **


	14. Chapter 14: Intriguing

**A/N: Here ya go!**

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens)_**

The early morning, pale light wakes me up the next morning. My shirt still off from when Katniss bandaged me, I stand up and stretch from being on the ground since three o'clock yesterday. I see that no one is around me. Two hastily-left backpacks lay on the ground, like someone escaped from being chased by demons and didn't have time to get their stuff.

_They _left_? _I scream in my mind.

"Katniss!" I yell out. No response. I roll my eyes and find that I can't see my shirt anywhere. "So they had time to take _that_," I hiss under my breath. I call out Katniss's name a few more times before there is rustling in the grass nearby and Katniss comes barreling into view. Her eyes wild, she spins, ready to shoot if someone appears in our camp. "Hmm, scared for me, huh?"

"God, Cato! I thought someone was killing you!" she barks, and then calls for Rue that the coast is clear. "And taking the supplies," she adds as an afterthought.

She walks to her pack and throws in a dead mouse. I raise my eyebrows, unsure of what the purpose of a dead rodent might be. She smirks and throws a shredded, bloody green shirt to me—mine. Rue gives me a small, sympathetic smile, and then she giggles slightly. I roll my eyes. I don't see why Katniss doesn't just kill that little girl; she's useless, after all, and wounded.

"Sorry about that, Cato," Katniss says as she gets her canteen in her pack, and then stands up. "Had to give something to the driven-insane jabberyjays that came screaming over here this morning."

I shake me head. "I would've woken up to that."

"You'd think."

I let out a deep breath, wondering why I like her, and then shake my head, ask her where we're going, what we're doing. She doesn't answer. I insist harder each time. No answer from her or the little girl. I get really close to her and tower over her, _demanding_ the answer with all the force I can. Standing over her, she looks like a little Pomeranian while I'm a Doberman, and Rue is a Chihuahua.

Katniss. Just. Smiles.

She also looks up at me with looks of anticipation and hatred in her eyes—a weird combination I didn't think existed, but apparently it does, I guess. I lean down, at first to tell her that she needs to tell me _now_, but then I just can't help myself. It happens so quickly, my chest hammering. My lips fall onto hers, and I pull her in with a hand on her back. Then I put my other hand on the back of her head and kiss her, full-on, completely hot.

"Cmafo," Katniss gets out, trying to pull away. Eventually I let her escape, and she stumbles back, and then, yelling for Rue to follow, she darts up, her arrow raised. "Come after me and I will not _hesitate_ to kill you."

And then she runs off and doesn't turn back as I crash into the ground. Unhealed, incomplete, and totally confused, I sit there, not sure of what this all means. Except, I do know one thing: I will do _whatever it takes_ to get Katniss Everdeen to see that she is _mine_.

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

He stares at me for the longest of time, about to spit something in my face, something with supposed bite. I consider smirking, realize I've been spending too much time with Careers, and decide against it. Just—Cato makes me so…like I want to go off into the woods for hours without even Gale—just _alone_. But what am I supposed to do—say, "Hey, Cato? Yeah, you make me just…agh, so, um, bye"? That's why I have to get him out soon.

But then something so unexpected happens that if he weren't holding me, I'd fall back. But he is. And he's _kissing_ me. Or more like vacuuming my face with his lips.

"Cato," I say against his lips, but it comes out way wrong because his lips are suction-cupped to my lips so tightly and murderously. When he finally lets me step away from the brutal, disgusting, kiss-resembling lip-lock session, I stumble back and yell for the in-awe Rue to follow me. I dart straight up from my place on the ground, my eyebrows raised involuntarily. I say _something_, but I'm too shocked to know what.

And then I take off. I hear Rue crunch through the grass behind me at rocket speed as we peel off towards the woods, leaving no time to think about whatever the hell just happened. I don't want to know. I'll cling onto the dim hope that he fell and was holding onto me so he didn't crash to the ground. It's a dim, _dim_ hope, but I cling to it like nothing else.

It's a while before we'll get back to the woods, so I go around the edge, over somewhere near where I think Cato must've been: at what I presume is the drop-off cliff. Veering to the side will take long but will give us refuge if we can't get to the woods before nightfall. I know we can, but I really just want to be better safe than sorry, and I want to be away from the path Cato will think we've taken.

"Whoa," Rue finally says.

I smile and nudge her as I come to a halt. She speeds a little past me, but then comes back; and she's panting hard, sweat drenching her sweet little face. Actually, sweat is drenching her scarred-for-life expression. _Great, Cato. Juuuust great._ Her eyes are wide and awed as she probably thinks back to the horrid moment when he pressed his really…lips to mine.

"Whoa is right," I tell her with a lopsided, halfhearted smile.

Rue nods. "He must really like you. Like your district partner did."

_No…_ I think, and it takes me a second to realize I didn't say it aloud. "No… No, it was an act. Peeta didn't love me. Cato doesn't."

"Didn't," she repeats, and I flinch, nodding. Suddenly it hits me again that Peeta is _dead_, and I could have _saved _him. I need someone to confide in, someone to tell that to, but I have no one. Gale is back at home. And…that might be it. My only confidant. Other than maybe Cinna, but he's in the Capitol. I only have two. That's kind of pathetic. If Gale died in the mines—something I don't even know how I could possibly _think _of—or if Cinna really wasn't someone I could trust, I would just be stuck, secrets and nightmares and everything balled up inside.

But that won't happen. Gale won't die. I can't be one hundred percent about Cinna _yet_, though. But Gale won't die. He might not _trust_ me anymore…

No. When I get home—or _if_—he'll wrap me in the same hug he did in the Justice Building. I miss him so much. I miss them all so much. I miss Mother, Prim, the Hawthornes, hunting, _Gale_. I miss _my_ bow that my dad made me long ago. I miss _my_ woods that Gale and I are always in, that my father showed me. I miss being home and as safe as you can get in Panem. I miss it so much. I can only imagine how much Rue must, being a little kid and all.

"I miss home," Rue says, mirroring my thoughts. I turn to her, completely shocked. She must pick that up from my expression, because she says, "Oh." She shrugs. "I just…I really needed to say that, and I trust you and all because we're allies and you saved me, you know."

"I just bandaged you up," I say with a small smile and give her a slight head-pat. _You're just like my little duck._

She shakes her head. "No. But okay. So, what do we do now?"

"What we should've been doing all along."

"What's that?"

"Staying in the woods."

…

Back in the woods the next day, everything seems peaceful. After a good night's sleep and a trek in the woods from four a.m. to ten, I finally have peaceful, joyous time to hunt. Rue picks greens not too far away from me with her slingshot and my knife at her side while I manage two squirrels and some birdlike, turkey-like, maybe, creature.

"Groosling," Rue tells me when we come back together for lunch, snacking on what's left of our Capitol dinner and feasting on the groosling, which is surprisingly really good. "They run everywhere back home. I see them all the time after I'm done in the orchards."

I nod. "I've never seen them before. Guess it's like the mockingjays. I think I might have heard of them, but they don't run around in the district often." I refrain from adding that they're not typically in the woods where I hunt, because I've seen billions of mockingjays there; just no groosling.

There's a long silence where we both just eat our lunch in the quietness of the forest noises. I get up and stretch my legs and then get a sip of water, looking around our little temporary camp. It's too close to the drop-off for my likings—what if they Careers came searching for Cato because his face hasn't been in the sky yet?—but it'll work for just one day. I hope. For once I want to relax and be _unsafe_. I have my bow, after all. I'm practically unstoppable with it.

I realize that now I actually have some peace, so I lie back against a tree and think about the-world-knows-who. Cato. Cato freaking District Two male. He is so annoying and confusing and _sick!_ Literally and non-literally!

_He kissed you, Katniss. Ask yourself _why_. _

I lay my head back against the tree bark. I don't understand what he wants from me. We can't be together even if an _us_ was plausible and real. We were…born to hate each other, forbidden to ever _love_. But the way my heart skipped a beat when he took his shirt off, something I just now noticed… That was just because he reminds me so much of Peeta, and I actually might have liked him a little. I _somewhat_ trusted him.

And if Cato hadn't been so rough and violent when he kissed me, this would be a whole lot easier. I would know from the kiss.

It shouldn't even be something I have to think of. At all. Whatsoever. Again my mind wanders to how great it'd be to hunt with Gale right now…

Gale! Oh, he will hate me when I get home.

Cato is just doing too much damage. Damage control is nonexistent. Slowly he's ruining my friendship with Gale without even trying or knowing Gale. I just hope Gale recognizes that the bad things I did in here with the Careers were things I've had no choice but to do. Still, our friendship will be rough when and if I can get back home. At least at first.

The way my mind had continuously wandered to home is unhealthy and distracting, and will hurt me in the future. It's mainly because of Cato. I've gotten stuck in many bad, near-death situations in this arena. Thankfully I've gotten maybe one serious wound due to the fireball incident and not hundreds. Because of Cato. And through all of the agonizing annoyingness of _Cato_, there is something _slightly_ intriguing about him.

Only slightly.

…

Later, Rue and I settle in my sleeping bag up in a tree, getting ready for sleep.

"Katniss?" she whispers.

"Yeah?" I ask softly.

I look down and see Glimmer standing below, looking around, and a machete in hand, a sword in her belt, a sheath of knives of several kinds connected to her belt loop. Panic and adrenaline sweep through me like blast of ice cold wind. I look anywhere else. My eyes wide, I stare up at the sky as Foxface's face follows the Anthem, her fiery red hair and amber eyes facing me with a hard, calculating, sly look on her pale skin.

"The girl from One is down there." Rue sounds terrified.

"I'm aware. Don't worry, Rue. Wait here for me. If I'm not back in fifteen minutes…wait longer."

And then I wriggle out of the bag and shimmy down, my bow and arrows ready. Ready for a fight and certain death for one of us.

Definite blood is on my way from both of us.

Because Cato got romantic and kissed me, ultimately making me run away. Always, always, _always_ because of the barely but still somewhat intriguing Cato.

**END OF PART ONE.**

**A/N: Not end of book 1. Just part one.**

**Review? Eh? Eh?**


	15. Chapter 15: I Need You, I Do

**A/N: yes, super early update, I know. I think this will be epic.**

**Now, I must explain something. Sorry if I seem arrogant and snotty and above-you-all when I say this. I don't mean to. But: That last chapter was the end of _part one_. Not _book one._ You don't say, "I _love_ this new part I got today!" "Mm, don't you love the smell of a part's pages when they're all yellowy and old?" No. You say _book_. So I will continue on this _book_/fic. **

**As we are unfortunately nearing the end of book 1, I need to know. Continue or not to continue into a book 2?**

**I'm estimating somewhere between 18-20 chapters of this, so there isn't many left. Savor the chapters while you can, because my sequels start to…go _downhill_ AT FIRST. Then I get into the rhythm and start getting good again. _NOW. READ THIS. IT'S VITAL TO THE SEQUEL. I NEEEEED REVIEWS. IF I DON'T GET REVIEWS, I'LL LOSE INSPIARATION AND QUIT, AND THAT WILL MAKE ME SAD. SO PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEEEEASE, IF YOU WANT A SEQUEL, REEEEAD IT. DON'T JUST SKIP IT. DON'T LIE AND SAY YES WHEN YOU WON'T READ IT!_**

**Now. I am done being depressing. Onto the chapter. **

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens)_**

I trudge back to the camp at the Cornucopia in complete darkness. There's nothing else left for me. The arena is so big and there are so few left, I certainly can't find Katniss before the Hunger Games is over. I just have to face it: the last thing I can do to help the most beautiful girl in the world…is something really, really stupid. I laugh at the thought. Isn't it _always_ something stupid?

The only thing I can do for her now is dying.

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

My feet touch the ground. My heart pounding, I load an arrow, hoping I can just get it all over with if I shoot her. But it is never, _ever_ that easy. Not in the arena. Not with me. Not when my life is on the line. No, it's always got to have _some_ twists and turns that the Capitol won't ever forget. And neither will I, I'm sure, though there are a few I wish I could.

"Hi, girl on fire," Glimmer says in a high-pitched voice. Or her own. You never know.

I nod to her without saying a word.

"You know you're going to die, right?" She paces, holding her machete close. "It was supposed to be you that was dead after the fireball, not Marvel."

I pull the string of my bow back, the tip of the arrows directed at Glimmer. We both just stand there for a second at a complete standstill. It seems almost like the whole forest stays still and quiet with us as we silently dare the other to male the first move. Obviously she won't, as she must have been sent by Clove against her own will, because Glimmer is blatantly nervous. Her weapon shakes because of her hands' quivering.

"How's Cato been, fire girl?" Glimmer says in a mocking tone that doesn't match her intimidated demeanor. "That's right—we knew. Remember that redhead? She was our spy."

At first I don't believe her. But how else would she know I've been with Cato? At least Foxface was dead before the kiss.

"Fine. Guess he'll be more of a survivor than you," I hiss.

_I've been spending way too much time with Careers,_ I think.

Then she springs up and at me, and I fall back trying to dodge. Both of us crashing on the ground, we stand up and then look at each other for a second. Then she lunges and I _can't_ dodge. She pins me but I shove off after delivering a blow to her nose that draws blood. I escape from her grasp and run off to the side, hidden in the tree line, but she catches me. I point my arrow at her again and shoot, but it wasn't a calculated shot and she's too fast; it misses her by a long shot. I sigh and load another arrow, but she's already on me.

"Up in the tree!" I scream, and then pretend like I'm about to climb, as if those directions were for myself, but Rue must know that they were meant for her, as I catch a quick glimpse of a tuft of her hair going higher and higher into the tree. "No, no, no…"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Glimmer shrieks as she pushes me against the tree. While she is a frilly, shallow person, she is stronger than me, no doubt.

She steps back for a second, and then darts from her little space three feet back to ram into me, but when she does, her arm snags the arrow on my bow that I'm holding off the side. She howls and falls to the ground. I get a two-second head start and _dive_ into the woods, sprinting as fast as possible, but she's up and behind me. I am faster than her, but my clouded thoughts can only go to her advantage.

Thanks **_again_**, Cato.

I leap to the side as she grabs my backpack and throws it out to the clearing and then yanks back my hood, but it's too late. As she struggles to pull me back, I squirm and kick and thrash and punch. Her bloody nose makes friends with a bloody lip and a cut on her cheek. Squawking about her _hair_ and her _face_, she punches me back. The adrenaline makes the pain subside the second after I feel it. But then she takes out her knife. Glimmer, with awful accuracy, attempts to throw it at my head. It hits my shoulder. I cry out in pain, but then feel it dull to a throb as anger pushes through me.

"Aah!" I growl. "All you do is bring on death and trouble and annoyingness—all of you Careers! You, Clove, Marvel, _Cato_, and _every Career!_"

"I think you mean everyone from your disgusting, repulsive district!" she shoots back.

A surge of something goes through me. Gale. Prim. Rory. Vick. Posy. Greasy Sae. Haymitch. Darius. Madge. Mother. _Father_. Peeta. So many others. They're not _repulsive_. Or, in the case of Peeta and my father, were not. Some of them are just starving or ill because the Capitol spends all their money on the Career districts and their hair dye!

"We. Are. Not. Like that," I snarl, and then throw my serrated-bladed knife with so much force; it would kill someone nearly instantaneously if it hit its mark. "But _you_, from District One. You blonde, zero brain cell idiots that can't do two-plus-two—_that's_ something you can't mistake."

She jumps at me, but I dodge, expecting it. Then I load my bow quickly and let loose the arrow as soon as she stands up. It hits her temple. She screams a scream that is so blood-curdling that I shiver in surprise at the sheer volume of the high-pitched, painful scream. And what's more scary is that…I almost don't regret it. She's a killer.

But…she doesn't deserve to die. Not like this.

And then she stops. And the soft sounds hit me like a load of bricks. It goes on like this, peacefully quiet, as she convulses and shakes on the ground.

Her cannon, loud and ear-splitting in the blissful quietness, booms, filling the arena with the sound of death. Rue, Cato, Clove, Thresh, and I—we're all that's left. There have been nineteen cannons already. My mind whirs as I compute that some of them were because of me.

And Cato. It's always because of Cato.

Rue sits helplessly on a low branch of the tree we were going to share tonight. I motion for her to come down, and she crawls down the tree like a squirrel, not one misstep in sight.

"We have to get out of here," I tell her, and she gives me a nod. With me one hundred percent. "And…we have to find Cato."

The words are retched in my mouth, but I, unfortunately, know that they are true. Clove will be coming for us tonight, and alone I don't think I can merely protect _myself_ against her—let alone also protecting Rue.

I can't stand him right now. The kiss. His attitude. His Careerishness…

But I need him right now. And I hate that. What's worse is, if I go back to him, he and everyone else will think, no matter how untrue it is, that I like him. And if I'm going to get home, I have to play along with that act. And besides, if I don't go along with it, he won't help Rue and I. That act that's so much worse than faking a love for Peeta. I have to act like I couldn't be more madly in love with Cato.

Whose _last name_ I don't even know.

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens)_**

_"Caaaaaaaaaaaaatoooooooooo…"_ My name is long and drawn out in my dreams.

_I open my eyes. The person moaning out my name like a ghost is Clove. She's holding a bloody knife. I look down at my chest. No wound. I look back up at the ghost of Clove. _Clove is dead? _I think. I shake my head. Her face never showed up in the sky. But there was that cannon right before I fell asleep earlier… Panic sets in. Clove = dead. Does not compute. _

_"Clove?" I get out._

_"Cato…she's…here…Katniss… She killed me, Cato."_

I wake to the feeling of someone shaking my arm violently. I see Clove's living, breathing face and jump a mile down into the earth, but then her face morphs and I see who it really is standing before me. Same brown hair, but that's where the similarities stop. Before me is Katniss. She looks down at me confusedly. Her gray eyes bore into mine.

"You crashed out in the field?" she asks, the corners of her lips quivering as she tries not to smile.

"Ha-ha," I mutter groggily. Then my dream comes to mind. "Did you…kill—?"

"Yeah, it was me who killed her. How'd you know? Hear her screams?" The girl on fire's distressed face turns into a forced smile, but it's completely ridden with obvious guilt and sadness that she killed Clove. But hurt and a little rage bubbles up in me. Now I understand why she hates me so much after I've killed Peeta. It really does suck when you're at least somewhat close to your district partner and someone kills them.

I shake my head. "How the hell did you manage to kill Clove?"

Confusion sweeps over her eyes again. "Clove? Clove was a coward and sent Glimmer to come find _you_ or something, bring you back. That's what I assumed at least. No, I killed _Glimmer_."

I sigh in relief. I don't know why. She has to die sometime, but I guess I just want to be the one to kill her since she's my district partner. But now that I know how it feels, if I ever get to hold Katniss, if she ever…whatever, I'll apologize, let her cry into my shoulder, _whatever _non-Careers do when someone like Peeta that they knew dies or something—I'm all new to this.

Then I realize: she is _here_.

"Why the hell did you come back?"

"Don't seem too happy, do you?" she asks sarcastically.

"I am."

She rolls her eyes. "I…uh. Need to talk to you. Somewhere _really_ private."

"Where is that?"

"Dunno. I figured you would."

I shrug, and then stand up. The pain has subsided slightly since I've got a bandage to help the excess bleeding, but the infection still rages on. After the kiss and after I realized Katniss was useless to try and please, I wondered why I hadn't gotten a gift for such an act. Brutus is pretty stubborn, though. He probably got drunk because he couldn't handle Enobaria, and now isn't sending too many gifts. Great. I love my mentor.

"I don't know anywhere, girl on fire," I say mockingly, holding onto the thin shred of hope that she's here to kiss me again or something.

Oh, the childish, idiotic, involuntary love I hold for that of Katniss Everdeen.

"Lead the way," I add.

She shakes her head and turns to Rue. "Can you go find us some greens, Rue?"

Rue nods and walks off towards a patch of trees about eight yards away. Once she's concealed by the patch of trees, Katniss turns to me. Uncertainty and worry fill her eyes—nothing else. She doesn't even bother to hide it. Instead, she comes close, and then kisses me on the cheek. I'm taken aback. She steps away after the small gesture and motions for me to come over to the grass with her so we can sit.

"I'm sorry for leaving," she says. "That was a…forceful kiss."

I smile genuinely, taking her hand, nodding. She goes into deep thought for at least two minutes, and then she erupts; she blurts out that, though she came back for me too, she also came back because until Clove or Thresh is dead—her first thing to say about that is, "We're not even _touching_ a single thing _close_ to Thresh until Clove is dead, though, got it?"—we are going to keep track of Rue. Then it's up to fate. She rambles a little more, but I can't help but just stare at her, smiling.

"What?" she asks self-consciously.

"You're so pretty," I tell her, and pull her close. Her unease suggests that she's uncomfortable. Not understanding why, _I_ ask with a slight, barely noticeable edge of self-consciousness, "What?"

"I've never been this close to a guy…you know. Before," she tells me, eying the ground. Her eyes flit to the side. _Lie, _I think before I even realize I've noticed the signs. Her hands touching her lips, and then hurrying to make sure I only see her scratching her chin or nose; the way her eyes flit up and left when she says things, as if she's picturing it, not thinking about it or remembering it. If her reaction is delayed when I say this next thing, it will be certain: she's just using me to help Rue and get her sponsors. And she thinks I'm sick.

"Katniss. Katniss, I love you," I whisper. I know I do. I know it. But if she's lying, I'll confront her and then tell her it was a lie.

In Career training, we do a lot of lie stuff in case it ever comes in handy. I guess it really does. But, like the trainer said at the beginning of the first day after we all signed up for taking the training class, sometimes ignorance can be bliss, and that course wiped out ignorance forever. I highly regret it. I'd like to just see what it's like, even if I really get suckered in the end. I want to see what it's like to _have_ Katniss Everdeen.

She refuses to look me in the eyes. Her smile is only around her mouth, not her whole face, not in her eyes. Her reaction is delayed. An odd "I love you too" plays from her lips right before she lays her head on my chest. I bounce up. She nearly falls back. I pay no mind, fuming with rage at her acts to _use_ me. Dammit, I'm not that much of an idiot! Who does she think I am? _Glimmer_?! Marvel?

"Damn, Katniss. I didn't notice how you didn't look me in the eyes, that fake smile. I sure as hell didn't notice the damn way you looked to the side, your delayed reaction, and the way your hands stayed close by you except when you touched your freaking face! I took a training class in this. I _know_ when people are lying if I'm paranoid enough to let myself, which I'm usually not," I spit out.

"Cato… You've confused me. Alright? God, when are you _not_ the brute? Even your lips are stronger than anything!" she hisses, and then turns around. "Rue, let's go!"

Lost her. I've lost her again. She's so _annoying_…but it just makes her more perfect, and I hate that. Hate it _so_much.

**A/N: Do you _luuuuurve _it? Then review! **


	16. Chapter 16: Long Time, No See

**A/N: Early chapter last week, late this week. Hope you like it! Tomorrow or the next chapter is the finale in the arena, but after that I'll have two more chapters from the victor(s')'s POV(s). **

**Oh, it's _obvious_ who is gonna win. *rolls eyes* XD Enjoy the chapter!**

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens)_**

_"Cato Allens, what might you say your worst mistake in the arena was?" Caesar Flickerman asks._

_I answer immediately. "Losing Katniss Everdeen."_

Despite that I'm dying, I won't let that happen. Despite that the infection is now putting pain instead of exaggerated or false or just crazy thoughts in me, I won't let that happen. Looking back on the past few days, I've been like a lovesick puppy, but now my head is clear and I know what I have to do. This time I'm on a mission. I'm on a mission to send Clove to kill Rue, and then kill Rue's district partner and Clove myself. I'm on a mission to make sure Katniss and me are the last two left. I'm on a mission to see what would happen next.

I'm on a plan with a beginning but no end.

I had made progress, gotten really close to the Cornucopia, when I last tried to make it to the Careers, so since I've been traveling for a while now, I see a golden glint. I start to jog, but I decide to stop, as the infection has settled into my bloodstream and it plays with my lung's functions, plus the regular pain from the infection is bad, so I just walk to my old camp, my old base, the place where I ruled, killed, and was stabbed.

Lots of memories from here.

At first I see no Clove, but then a knife whizzes past me with incredible force. Seeing as Clove is a perfect shot and she didn't hit me, I'd say she is afraid of me and she thinks I'm strong enough to kill her. I am if she doesn't struggle, but if I actually tried to, of _course_ she'd struggle. Which makes the part of the plan where I kill the boy from Eleven and Clove all that much harder.

"Clove, I'm here to make a deal, not to kill you," I call out, walking in the direction the knife came from. Clove emerges from the darkness of the Cornucopia, her trademark smirk resting smugly on her face, though she already must know I know she's terrified because of the way she threw her knife. She stares at me expectantly as I try to explain how to say this.

"Long time, no see," she says simply, sharpening her knife, cutting loose strands from her hairstyle away. "I really did try to come back, but you were all zoned-out, and then when we came back next time, you were gone and we ran into girl on fire, and Glimmer died."

"I see that," I tell her, looking at her fragile but tough form. "I was the best spy ever as the blood poisoning got me." To add effect, I groan right then, clutching my bandaged wound.

"I see you're going shirtless," she comments, looking at my abs. Her smirk deepens, and then disappears. "Why, exactly?"

"Lost my shirt." She raises her eyebrows after I say this. "Long story."

"I have time."

"I don't."

I take a deep breath, my mind preparing a speech. But then a wave of tiredness hits me and I feel dizzy. I turn around and barf. Getting sick seems to be the side effect of blood poisoning. Retching until I'm sure I've puked up even my organs, I wipe off my mouth and turn to her like nothing has happened. Because I don't care anymore. The pain is at constant roar, so I'm used to it. I've barfed a lot randomly in the last two days, so it's nearly normal.

"Listen, Clove," I start, exhaling deeply. "I need you to do me a favor. After all, you nearly killed me, and I'm sure you didn't mean to do _this_ to me." I motion to the mess of a state I'm in, to the vomit behind me. She looks down at her feet. "It's a simple, quick, and maybe even enjoyable task for you."

"Then tell me, Cato," she prods.

I nod. "Kill the girl from Eleven, Ka— I mean, girl on fire's ally. Kill girl on fire and I will kill you so hard, you will wish you never even existed, got me?"

Clove's eyes narrow as she thinks. I stand up and head into the Cornucopia, looking through small bags, first-aid kits, a few big packs, but I find nothing that might help with my fatal wound. I frown, continuing to search. I doubt I'll find anything, but you never know unless you try. After a minute, I turn around to see if Clove is still there.

She shakes her head. "I'll do it, but I can't promise you anything more than that, and the only reason I'm even going is because I stabbed you so suddenly like that. I may or may not kill girl on fire," she tells me, her mind fully here and fully somewhere else. Calculating things. Just like old times.

But—it's weird. Clove just seems like a distant memory, an old colleague, maybe someone that I was somewhat friends with in fifth grade, but not as my old ally, oh, three or four days ago. Our being together as an alliance seems like years ago. She's not a member of my current world; she's a friend at the high school reunion, an old enemy running into me and somehow not biting my head off, or vice versa. Not my ally. Not days ago.

Time is really corrupted in the arena.

"If you do kill her, I can promise you that you'll regret it so much, words will not even come _close_ to describing the regret," I bark like she's still one of my controllable puppets and I'm still the puppet master, when, in all truthfulness, I'm so far from being the puppet master anymore. "You kill the little girl. The girl on fire"—I sigh—"is _mine_."

"To _kill_ or to _kiss_? You've always had this weird, undying respect for her, despite her…_her_ness, and you've let her get away and escape too many times, Cato," Clove hisses. "Your games are over. In fact, they never _were_. These Games are _mine_. My games are on, and trust me; you don't want to play them. So why don't you tell me your little girlfriend's address so I can go kill her and her little pest of an ally?"

Her tone is even, her eyes raging with hatred, ready to give me my final blow. And what really makes me think is that she _can_. I'm thinking clearly, though painfully, now, and now I realize something: I don't have a chance. Not with Katniss, not for the victor's title, not at anything here, or anything there ever was. I guess in this psychotic world that I'm in people are just born specifically to die, to benefit the winner's future, to make them think, to make them feel, to make them human. And I'm one of those people. The winner I'm uncertain of. But I sure as hell know that the true winner, the one who'll get all the benefit, has never stepped into an arena. It's not a victor. It's not a tribute. It's an outsider. And right now that outsider is watching me, laughing because they _know_ that I'm realizing that this is my life's purpose; I never had a chance, not once in my life. I was born, bred, and trained, but not to win, not to kill. To _die_.

And because of my stupidity, I might have just reserved Katniss a spot in our bright, cheerful club of dead losers.

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

"Rue," I whisper, "stay close."

"What are we doing?" she asks for the millionth time; I don't blame her though, because I keep blatantly disregarding that question. _What are we doing? _We're stalling. We're stalling the fact that it's inevitable not to go out there. We're stalling that this is the final five, it's day ten, and people want this over with. It's finally sunken in for me, but I don't want pure, innocent Rue to have to understand this fully like I do.

We're stalling our deaths.

"Mm-mm, don't ask," I tell her. I shake my head. "I'm not sure. I know what to do, but it comes and goes. I'm concentrating."

Lying to her isn't exactly the perfect thing to do in this situation, but when the alternative is telling a twelve-year-old that there is no hope, that there's no way we can live, I think lying fits well. When she asks me half an hour later what I've come up with, I spit out some ridiculous plan to team up with Thresh to kill Clove and then deal with the rest from there, but it's obviously a lie. It is possibly one of the dumbest plans in history, and I think Rue can figure that I've kept us alive this far and wouldn't make up _this_ plan for real after hours of thinking.

"That's not it," she says.

Yep.

I turn to her, sadness, remorse, and the look of me wanting so hard for things to change taking in my eyes. "Listen. Rue, I can tell you right now that I am completely one-hundred-twenty-percent positive that one of us is going to make it out of here," I start, "that we'll be the final two and somehow just see who dies first or something." Grim thoughts make great pep talks. "I don't know where I was going with that."

Rue smiles. "Okay, I know. What are we really doing though? Escaping the finale?"

"You're _too_ smart, you know that, Rue?"

Rue looks at me sympathetically and then whistles to the birds.

And then a distant "Clove, no!" comes to my ears. One from _Cato_, can you believe it? Horror sets in. Clove. My biggest opponent ever since Cato became ill and…fell in love with me? I'm still trying to figue _that_ one out. But anyway, instead of going crazy like I am, Rue starts to climb. I smile. She's so calm, always. It's like she's a miniature, younger, female, sweeter Gale. Kind of.

And there's Gale again. And home. Gale. Peeta. Cato. You'd think I have some issue—being in the _Games_ and accumulating the life and hearts of three guys on my shoulders—one's death on my head. Maybe not Gale's heart, of course, but definitely our friendship and his life—two very important things in my life. Peeta's death is _my entire fault._ I can't ever just _get over_ that, despite the time and time again that I tell myself to.

And then there's Cato, whose heart could be shattered, broken, torn into atom-sized shredded cells for all I care though. He could die a million times, and only the millionth time would I give him mercy and put him out of his misery. Well, maybe I might the five hundred thousandth times. Or the hundred thousandth. Possibly the thousandth. Hundredth. Twentieth. Fifth…

Second. Definitely the second. Unless the first of his deaths was unbelievably brutal, I'd be merciful the second time. I really hate pain and when people or I am in it. Even Cato _feels._ And whether I believe it fully and truly or not, he actually, honestly, really is the most merciful person ever compared to Clove and some Career victors. So he would at least deserve mercy, but never respect. Not once would I ever consider respecting the brute male from Two.

I start to scurry up the tree to Rue as fast as possible. "Rue," I call up when I'm about halfway, "I want you to do your tree-hopping while I take care of Clove and Cato. If I don't meet you by the river before daybreak tomorrow…wait longer. Until my face shows up in the sky, okay?" I smile weakly.

She nods. "Be safe," she whispers—or, it sounds like a whisper, anyway—sadly. "Please don't die, either."

I smile a little stronger. "I'll try," I say softly, but not too soft so she can still hear. "Goodbye, Rue."

"Bye, Katniss," she says, and then comes down to the branch I'm on. She hugs me. "See you later."

"See you," I whisper, and then climb down as she climbs back up.

Once I hit the ground, I have a mere second to load my bow before Clove comes barreling into the woods. Her exhausted, angry face turns to a smirk when she sees me. Narrowing her eyes, she looks me up and down carefully, as if I'm a piece of meat and she's inspecting if it's ready to be shipped off somewhere to the Capitol. I scowl indifferently, just like old times, when there were no emotions that ever appeared on my face.

Times have changed. _I_ have changed. A lot.

"Girl on fire! Long time, no see," Clove hisses. Cato runs into the clearing behind her, panting and green. He turns around and barfs. He's so sick, the ill form.

Once Cato bounces up, wipes off his mouth, and regains his composure, he snaps at Clove, "Stop it. The fight is between you and me, Clove." She turns around, glaring at him, but then his hard, steely, dark voice goes harder, steelier, darker. It's so stern and serious and downright controlling—like he controls you, anyone around, and the land around them—that I take a step back to get away. "Go. Get _out_ of here."

Clove, her eyes afraid, starts to edge away, and Cato, looking satisfied, makes room for her to run off. But then she turns around lightning speed, and throws a knife at me. Nailed to my place from the surprise, I watch as in comes at me in slow motion, ready to penetrate my skull and bury itself in my brain. Finally I manage to squirm, escape its centeredness on me. It hits me in the side of the forehead. I jolt my head back, and _more_ pain comes from that. My first wound in the arena.

I cry out as I stumble back, very icy and sharp. Clove smiles, approaching me, but Cato tackles her from behind, pinning her down, whispering things in her ears. She finds a way to kick him in his special place. He bounces back, groaning and bent over, and then falls back. Clove runs off into the forest that I think Rue went. For one small second, she looks up, and then pulls out a knife, and I hope with everything in me that it's a squirrel as I pull out an arrow. Just as I shoot it, she releases her knife, and my arrow hits the back of her shoulder, as there was a lot of blood in my eyes.

And then she gets away.

And neither me nor Cato can prevent her from running at top-speed, because I'm too busy running to my ally as she falls, and he's too busy groaning.

I reach her just before she hits the ground. From her height, if I caught her, we'd both be dead. So instead of catching her, I snag her just before she goes, her momentum lost. But it's still a stomach-churning _thump!_ as she hits the ground. I dive down at the ground to where she is, her eyes scared and in pain. I shake my head over and over, disbelieving this, debunking it as a dream, not real. A dream. It has to be.

"Rue!" I screech finally, my vocal cords behind in the situation.

"Katniss," she says softly. "You have to win." Her words are pronounced and insisting. Heartbreakingly sweet.

I force a smile. "I will. I promise. I'll win."

"Thank you," she whispers.

"Wait, maybe we can fix you, Rue," I say softly. Even though she violently shakes her head, I ask, "Where's it hurt?"

"Katniss, it won't work. Can you…sing?"

I nod, tears flowing, as we grip each other's' hands. Her because she needs someone to hold onto because of the pain. Me because I'm watching a Prim-like girl die.

And then I sing her a song, one I haven't sung in a long time. I sing the Valley Song, the song I sang the day Peeta fell for me. I sing Deep in the Meadow, the song my father taught me and sang Prim and me to sleep as children with. I sing The Hanging Tree, the song Prim and I loved, but our mother banned. I sing many other songs. Ones that remind me of home, of Gale, of Peeta, of mother, of father, of Prim, of Rue. One that reminds me of Cato, but that pours out before I can stop it.

And then I sing one that my father made up that I loved before Prim was born, but when she was, he promised me that it would be just our song, so he didn't sing it much after she was born. He called it The Final Lullaby. Before I even finish the last line—_You'll be safe, forevermore, even after the final lullaby_—her eyes have closed and her hand has gone limp. I stand up as the cannon booms, empty ache in the pit of my stomach.

"Bye," I whisper, and then stagger off back to Cato, staunching the flow of blood from my forehead.

"That was beautiful," he whispers, recovered. I hate that he does, but then he notices I'm crying and walks over, taking me in his arms. And what's absolutely awful—I let him. I need a rock right now where I'm at, someone to hold onto me. Someone to make sure I don't fall. He hugs me tighter. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," I say, having stopped crying. "You never liked her. She was 'useless.'"

He sighs, shaking his head, but saying nothing. I find myself comparing Gale's warm, rock-solid hug to Cato's comforting, soft, oddly gentle hug. But it's just for him probably. He can't stand not being _with_ me, so to make up for it he's hugging me, his motives selfish. But I'm still here, still holding on to the closest thing to a rock in the arena, crying about Rue. Eventually he lets me go and looks around. Then he walks over to something.

"We got a sponsor gift," he says, smiling. "Wonder who for."

"You."

"Don't be so certain, Miss Everdeen."

"Whatever," I say, and he opens the gift. His eyes widen slightly. "What is it? Medicine?"

He shakes his head, still staring at the gift's contents. "Morphling pills."

"Morphling?" I ask, and he nods, reaching into the thing. "Well, don't _take_ them. Do you really want to be zoned-out and in wonderland in here?"

"Katniss, I'd like to be anywhere _but_ here. I'm ready to get out," he says.

That leads me to another question in the many: Is Cato back in the game?

**A/N: Note to Fanfiction: STOP. CHANGING. I hate the _NEW_ Forum and Account stuff. **

**Anyway, drop a review, eh?**


	17. Chapter 17: Find Me

**A/N: Heh. The writing part of this is exactly three thousand words, including the "D2 or D12"—that stuff. So technically not _exactly…_ oh, stop raining on my parade! XD**

**So. Are you ready for this? ARE YOU?! It may or may not be the finale. Read to see! **

**Anyway, if you're one of those people who like to read ahead, I'd highly advise against that, as this chapter is full of spoilers for what you haven't read if you read ahead. And trust me—you'll want this surprise. I love surprise in books. But I read ahead. So I knew ahead of time that Prim was gonna die, that Cinna wasn't where he was supposed to be (as in, HE GO DEAD), that Finnick got married, that Peeta was inexplicably being a jackass, that Rue was gonna die… etc. And it ruined a lot of surprises for me. But the tears still came. XD 'Cause I'm a wuss. XD**

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens)_**

Yesterday was fantastic after I found her.

What I'm doing now? Yeah, this sucks.

"Are you?" she asks for the millionth time. "What's your _goal_?"

"My _goal_?" That's new.

She's been sitting here since we got up this morning. At first she was mourning Rue inside her sleeping bag. For her sake, I laid back down and pretended like I was still asleep and hadn't noticed her, because I don't think that, at this late point in the Games, she would hesitate to shoot me for any reason, just to take me out, because I "hurt her so much," or something.

Really, what is my reason for liking her? I look up at her, remembering everything…_her_ of her. Oh, yeah, that's why.

After that, she ate. I did too. That was dull—and filled with suffocating, extreme silence. And now, here we are, questioning my motives for and of life. You know—what every love-hate-ugh pair of allies talk about.

"Of the Games," she says. "Are you still…in it to win it?" The dim light of the dwindling twilight reflects off her face.

"I don't know," I admit. Searing pain hits me; the morphling has worn off. I scramble for more, not bothering to hide it like I did last night. She looks at me, angry and lost. Like she _cares_ that I'm taking these. Good. About time. "No. Definitely not. Besides, if I go one more day, I'll be dead for sure. It's all for you now, I guess."

She shakes her head. "How hard is it to breathe without the pills?"

"I nearly can't—why— No, you're not going to be able to save me, Katniss. Give it up."

"Who says I'm saving you?" Well. "Feel your heartbeat—now, please."

I do. Th—ump… Th—ump… Th—ump. Not good.

"It's slow." I look in her eyes, confused. She feels my heartbeat herself, and then shakes her head. "What?"

"Very slow. Right-before-you-die slow," she says slowly, uncomprehending.

I'm pretty uncomprehending myself. "I don't feel like I could die any second now."

She rolls her eyes. "You're not. The chance that I'm right is fifteen to eighty-five, fifteen being the chance I am." She looks me up and down, slowly sizing me up for slaughter I'm guessing. I glance at her sadly, because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'm dying today, whether a tribute kills me or the blood poisoning does. I'm going to die, just like I was born to do.

"That's reassuring," I say quietly, the need of sleep overwhelming me.

She glares, but then watches as I fall back, tired. My eyelids can't hold themselves up. I fall gently back, hitting the ground with a thud. "Tired…" Images of my sweet family wave at me, and Katniss's face is all over my vision. I feel a distant thump on my chest over and over, but I take it as my heartbeat. _I'll have nice dreams, _I think, and then I allow myself to drift off, peaceful in sleep. _Night, Katniss. Wake me up soon._

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

"That's reassuring," he says softly, but his voice is weird. It's really gentle, almost fragile. Unlike ever before. I glare at his comment, but then he falls back. His eyes close. "Tired…" he says, and I flip.

"Cato? _Cato._ Cato, stay up. Stay up! You're not tired, Cato—you're _dying!_" I scream, punching him in the chest. "No, Cato, stop it. Don't play with me. Wake up. _Wake up!_ It's not funny, Cato!"

But then his cannon booms. Wait, no—_it's not his cannon_. It's Clove's, or Thresh's. Not Cato's. He's not dead. He's asleep, just like he said. He'll wake up soon. He's really tired from the infection. He _isn't_ dead. I know he isn't. He's too…he's too _him_ to die, especially this early. He wouldn't die until he saw me win or he got home. He'd refuse to. And he's too smart to think it was sleep if he was dying. He's not dead. Cato is still in there, dreaming or sleeping dreamlessly, but he _is not_ dead.

He can't be.

I won't let him be dead.

Is he really dead? I don't think that that should be such a bad thing, right? Big competitor=now gone. But he only wanted me to win. He had long since given up, so maybe that's what's getting me. He was willing to risk it all for me. Or maybe because he was my rock for a while there, just there to help me. And I couldn't help him. I guess that's what hurts me most; that's why it really hits me. I couldn't help Peeta. And now Cato.

For once I can finally see clearly from Gale's view on the Games. Unjust, deadly, stupid. That's what they are. I can now see clearly, because I've lost enough. My dad. Technically my mom at some points in my life. Peeta. _Rue_. And now Cato. I guess I could consider him a true ally. Not a friend. Ally. They've finally taken away enough for me to know the pain and truly see the awfulness.

"Cato?" I ask one more time.

Nothing.

Then that settles it. He. Is. Dead. Once and for all.

"It's too bad, fire girl," I hear from somewhere near. I spin around, looking for Clove. I'm ready, like Cato is—was—to get these Games over with. But I don't want to kill Thresh. I was kind of hoping that's what Clove was doing. "Your first little boyfriend—I killed. Your little friend—I killed. Your next little boyfriend—I killed. And after I finish off Thresh, you—_I will kill_."

"Good luck with that," I say hollowly. She really did kill all of them. "Have fun. I'll wait the Thresh fight out."

"Ooh." She makes a mockingly sad face. "Poor you. Miss your little friend? Miss _Rue?_ Wouldn't want to kill the district partner of your allies, would you? Don't worry—you won't have to worry about Rue's or…Cato's."

I hiss, evil darkness lacing my every word, "You may have killed them, but they were all stronger or smarter than you. Peeta could have killed you in a heartbeat if he weren't surprised. He wouldn't even sweat. Rue could have outsmarted you until there was nothing left and you died. And you _bet_ your sorry ass that Cato could have ripped you apart piece by piece and you wouldn't even be able to do a _damn thing_ if he wasn't surprised."

"The element of surprise works well, darling," Clove says slyly, and then she slithers off like the dastardly snake she is. And if she weren't already in the brush and safe because I don't know her exact location, I can assure you her smartass brain would have an arrow in it right now. I can guarantee it. When Thresh dies, there is no _doubt_ that I _will_ kill her, and once she's at her weak point, I'll make sure she suffers so much she'll beg me for mercy and apologize for every damn thing she's done to me. And that'll only fuel my fire more.

'Tired…' 'Katniss!' 'Can you…sing?'

The last words of my allies. Calling me for help, asking for a lullaby, saying they'll be up again later. But he won't be up again later, because he's gone. I don't want to believe it, but it's the truest thing I know right now, the only thing keeping me fueled. I hum The Final Lullaby, tears suddenly on the edge of my eyelids. I manage to hold them back somehow.

"_Somewhere far away is a place where it's just you and I,_

_We are safe there, we are sound,_

_It's our place, not to be found,_

_I'll sing you to sleep, and I'll wake you up at the sunrise,_

_But know always, that there, we are safe, we are whole,_

_Far and wide as the eye can see, that is our place, just you and me,_

_Sing you my songs I will, and I'll teach them to you,_

_Here, there's one thing I can certainly promise you,_

_You are safe, forevermore, even after the final lullaby._

_…_

"_Kiss you gently, I promise I'll be here when you wake,_

_On the forehead, my kiss will stay,_

_My darling, my dear, my sweet katniss root,_

_Won't you please know—_

_Here is where I'll sing the final lullaby._

_…_

"_Darkness may run in our wake,_

_It may be there for the next hundred generations to partake, _

_But I know you'll be safe, forevermore,_

_So don't fret, don't cry, don't worry a bit,_

_I'll keep you safe, as long as you know,_

_You are safe, forevermore, even after the final lullaby._"

The song couldn't be truer—for Rue, for Peeta, for Cato. I can't even seem to think of home anymore. Even if I try, The Final Lullaby fills my head and Rue, Peeta, and Cato are the only people I see, even through Prim's sweet face. They are safe forevermore, even after their final lullabies. They are living in the place where one day it can be just me and them for a while. They are so, so lucky. I guess death sucks, being ripped from the world. But when you lose those who die, you get the real dish of pain, because that lasts until _you_ die.

I decide that it wouldn't hurt to get a head start by being there as soon as Clove dies, so I can kill Thresh as quickly as possible with the "element of surprise," or whatever. I hope that Thresh was at the Cornucopia, venturing towards the woods, because I _really_ want to get the Games over. Badly. The ache to be _done_ with this is as strong as the newly-formed aches of seeing Rue recently die. And Cato. I guess. Maybe he was a friend.

I trudge along, kicking rocks, leaving an oh-so-obvious path, but Cato's hovercraft never comes, though his cannon did. Suspicion licks at me; what if it was Thresh who died? I consider going back and feeling his pulse—what I should have done in the first place, but my mind was whirly and unfocused when he "died"—but I'm interrupted and can't.

A sudden thundering of feet racing on the ground puts me at full alert; I load an arrow. Then I realize something: the trees—perfect. I climb up one, hoping deeply the creatures running after me can't climb. But they are finale mutts most likely, so they probably can. My fingers shake slightly as I wait for grotesque, awful animal-ish things to come pounding through.

And I get that.

Half bull, half human, half horse animals come through. Their eyeless faces are held high as they sniff instead of see. Their mouths are all agape as they searched for prey. Fanged and clawed, they smell around, until they finally smell me. If it's possible, grins spread on their humanlike faces. Their clawed fingers scratch at the tree's bark. They even sink their fangs in. Their vicious snarls rings below me like the reaping horn.

It almost seems like they're saying "Kill."

Just as ominously as they came, they give up and leave, their hoofs making dirt fly as they go at top speed, rather ostrich-like. I turn away in disgust, resolving to stay up in the tree. But instead, I find myself climbing down, and, despite my mind's protest, I go away from the safety of my tree and to a familiar clearing, one where two people died. It's not far away. Merely eight or nine yards. I stop dead in my tracks when I see Cato's corpse still there, waiting to be lifted. And—perfect timing—the Anthem plays. I look up through the two treetops in my way; get to a clear place to see.

And there's his face, clear as day! So why is he still here?

Suddenly a cannon booms as Cato's face fades. Then the screen in the sky comes back and Thresh's face shows up. My heart drops. They got to him first. There's no way Clove could kill _Thresh_. The mutts would have had to. Then howls erupt, the earth shakes, and a sense of finding your lost shoe after looking for it forever fills me. What, exactly, my lost shoes is, is a mystery, but I can feel it slowly come back to me. The feeling of home? Is that it? Can something within me feel that Clove is dead and I'll soon be transported back home? I am unsure.

I stand up. Dread laces my every footstep. I turn back and look at Cato, and then turn away. It's almost like he's right behind me, asking me why I didn't wake him up for sunset, asking what's happened. My mind is cruel, reminding me of Cato the day he dies. And it continues on as I slowly walk away—Cato even starts to yell, all very lifelike. He yells for me to come back. It's so real I find myself turning around to make sure he isn't behind me.

And when I do, my heart stops. Just half an hour ago he died, and his face showed up in the sky. His cannon sounded. His pulse stopped.

But there is Cato, staring at me, standing up, shirtless, _woundless_. He's perfect health-wise, his skin silky and tanned, his hair moussed and spiked. He looks like he's just stepped into the arena. But the look in his icy blue eyes says it all. He hasn't. The fear, his death, his experiences—their branded into his reincarnated mind.

And look at me, just playing along with this! Reincarnated. Yeah. He's probably a hologram, or a mutt. They wouldn't reincarnate a tribute and put him back in the arena with a chance at being the victor—_especially _after publically announcing him _dead_.

"Katniss?" he says. I stumble forward, reaching out to feel him. He's solid. So he must be a mutt, a clone. "It's me. It's really me. I don't get it either."

I shake my head. "Prove it. _Prove_ you're not a mutt."

He looks confused, his head cocked in the same direction, his icy eyes that were previously glazed over with death and now have the same look as before when he was confused. His walk is even the same—something I didn't even know I had a record of. But when he steps, it's very familiar. And it's cruel. They're going to bring him back, only to take him away again, I _know_ they will. It's their plan. I don't get it, though. I'm not rebellious—outwardly, at least. I've played by their rules. I haven't gotten close-close with Peeta or Cato. I should be golden. But I'm not.

"I'm not a mutt, Katniss." Even his voice is borderline _perfect_, matching up with Cato's exactly. He walks up to me to embrace me. The final test. When he reaches me, and his arms slide around me, I know, one hundred percent, that this is Cato Blank, age blank, District Two, male, tribute. Etcetera. He holds me too tight, and to that point a wiggle out of his grasp. It's time to go fight Clove, see what he really means by, "It's all for"—

Oh. Oh, no.

This is bad.

He's _healed_. He'll kill me. He'll go for the goal…

"Let's go win this for you," he says softly, and then charges off, lifting the brand-new sword from his belt. I watch for a moment in awe. How can he be so perfect, new, Capitolized, and yet his voice, his eyes, his touch—how can that feel so imperfect? How can it feel so rough and shadowed, dark and cold, full of everything he's been through—including death? I guess death wakes up a person in cases like these.

And so it goes. Step, step, step. The vicious and capable tribute next to me, able to kill me at every step of the way. But I don't think that's going to happen; I think he'll just stay by my side and torture Clove, and then…and then what? He'll kill himself? Tell me to kill him? Run off into the woods until something comes to kill him? I don't know his plan, but I'll go along with it, just because I think this untrustworthy, evil, murderous, deadly boy deserves trust. Somewhere within him is the little kid whose mind was bent and altered to train. Because no one would ask for this.

I find myself speaking. "What did it feel like? When you died?"

He smiles, looking down at me. His height is very intimidating; he's always looking down on you, even when he doesn't mean to be the brute that could kill all. He's just really tall. "Died?" His eyes widen, but then his smug smirk reappears. "Just like I said. I felt really tired, and then I just fell asleep. And I wasn't supposed to wake up—ever, I…guess. But…I did, and it was all _really_ white. Different layers and shades and shapes and lightings of white, but it was all white, and it was like the sun, blinding me. And then the next thing I know, I see the treetops, and I get up, looking for my little spot in the backyard of my house that I fall asleep at a lot, but then I found you. I don't know. I thought I just fell asleep. I died? Whoa."

"You're healed," I blurt out.

His smirk turns to a smile, something I've seen time and time again. "No!" he says sarcastically. "I thought someone just painted over the bloody, pussy cut."

"Ick."

He nods, and then he takes my hand tightly. I think about pulling away, but his grip speaks a million words. He needs someone to catch him if he falls to, someone to be there when he hits the ground. He's scared.

He's planning his death. His _second_ death.

**A/N: OMFG, RIGHT? OH MY FREAKING GOSH.**

**Yeah, I had this planned.**

**But it wasn't supposed to be in one chapter. Oh well. Super mega awesomeness chapter.**

**Did I make you cry? Don't be ashamed to say it. If the death and the reincarnation, etc., lacked emotion, just tell me so I can improve that. I'm entering in a contest for real publisher-like people choose twelve short stories and issue for people around the world to read, and I'm going for a really emotional piece, so I need to work on that. I'd tell you what this competition is, but I have enough awesome people to go up against! I can't just tell all you awesome writery people about it!**

**XD jk. If you want to know about it, which I doubt anyone does, just PM me. **

**Au revoir! Or whatever! Review and I shall try to update soon!**

**P.S., I need title ideas for the sequel.**

**UH-HUH. THERE'S GONNA BE ONE!**


	18. Chapter 18: Turn the Page

**_A/n: this is not the last chapter! I repeat, NOT THE LAST CHAPTER!_**

**I need titles for the sequel fic though. Throw 'em at me if you got some.**

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens)_**

Soft thumps play near my head like a round of music, banging and thumping and roaring. I took interest in percussion for my school for a week once, and then quit because it got in the way of training, gave me a headache every time, and it was very lame of me. The band was made up of a few pretty girls who quit early, and the rest were dweebs who could be picked off in the Games within a second.

Suddenly I realize I'm in the arena, bouncing right up in the bush I'm hiding in. I look around for any sign of danger, seeing nothing…on ground level. When I look up in the tree Katniss has spent the night in, I see Clove edging her way up there. Knowing her she'll fall at any second, and if the fall doesn't kill her, I will. Huh. Lucky turn of events.

But she never does. She never falls. My conversation with Katniss last night pops up in my head.

_"She can't climb the stupid tree, Cato! I'm not sleeping in a _bush_," _she'd said. _"You should, though. You're too… You can't climb a tree."_

_"_Katniss_! She's a _lot_ smaller than I am. She learned to climb. I remember. Please. Just sleep in a damn bush,"_ I had argued.

_"You sound like an idiot."_

_"I know I do."_

_"Glad we're at an agreement."_ Then she climbed the tree.

I sigh and stick my sword in the tree, lifting myself up, grabbing a super low branchlike thing sticking out of the tree. I look up; see Clove advancing further up the tree. I can just barely make out Katniss peeking over the branch she's on. Surely she's loading an arrow, getting ready to let it loose… Suddenly I feel like an idiot. She can't shoot until I'm out of the way.

With my obvious discovery at bay, I start to scramble down from my position of two yards up.

Once I finally reach the ground, I move out of the way and wave my arms violently, trying to get Katniss's attention. She looks down at me, and I think she's trying to hold her confused look in. I mouth, "Shoot her," and point to Clove.

She rolls her eyes, mouthing back, "Who, the squirrel a tree over?"

I roll my eyes this time and wait for the arrow to connect with Clove's brain. But suddenly, instead, a knife connects with Katniss's.

My mouth drops wide open. Clove is just climbing. Nothing about her has changed. But somehow, without mine or Katniss's knowing, she's managed to plant a knife in Katniss's forehead.

"Cato! Cato! Come save her, Cato!" Clove shouts loud, so loud I bet you could hear if you were standing in the mouth of the Cornucopia.

Rage makes me clench my fists. My teeth grind as I run to the tree as fast as I can, planning to make it up to the tree and stab Clove in the back with my sword. I grab hold of the branch that I used to lift myself up earlier and climb. I don't ever stop climbing; not when Katniss screams bloody murder for me to hurry, not when she tells me to go back down, not when Clove mocks her, not when Clove lets out her own cry of pain. Everything fuels my burning fire, makes me need to climb higher.

About halfway up the tree, maybe higher, not very far from Clove and Katniss and their branch, searing pains stops me cold. Forty or fifty feet up, I look down at the knife in my hand. Wind whips through my hair. _Flight,_ I think. It feels like I'm flying, soaring through the endless seas of sky, of wind, of daylight.

Crashing, falling, dying. Lost their meaning.

Falling down.

Second death?

_Katniss. _

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

I get a peek at Cato as he stares at his bloody hand, losing his grip and not even trying to regain it as he plunges down towards the forest floor to another death.

"Cato!" I scream, but Clove pins me to the branch, a knife in hand.

I can barely struggle at first as I process everything. The pain. The grief. The anger. But then it hits me that there's a knife coming down to end me, and that makes me struggle, pushing Clove away, elbowing her arm. I try to knee her in any way I can, but she has me pinned good. I can't move. I can't get to a knife, an arrow, even a stick. I'm completely defenseless. My best chance is that I fall out of the tree, too.

"You know, back home, Cato was every girl's dream," Clove says, narrowing her eyes. "They stared. Oh, God, they stared. He was all anyone talked about. A definite win for the Games, 'hot,' flirtatious whether he liked someone or not, and a kisser, that's for sure. But he doesn't care. It's always a lie. Cato David Allens does not know the definition of 'care.' He was using you, all that time. I did you a favor. Here, I'll do you another. Why don't I reunite you with your sweet little ally, okay? Yeah, let's do _that_."

I narrow my eyes, blood from my forehead trickling into them, into my mouth. I work up enough and spit it at her. Repulsed, she sits up for a minute. I squirm away just before she grabs the back on my shirt, pulling me into a stranglehold. I manage to slowly reach an arrow, but the sheath falls to the ground, landing straight on Cato's back.

His cannon hasn't sounded…

Oh, well, that's not my concern right now.

I can't breathe. Slowly my breath is leaving me. I try to choke for air, but it doesn't work. I—unnoticeable to my opponent, here—slowly take my arrow backwards. Then, with one swift, blind, breathless move, I jab it into her gut. She makes a satisfying _oof! _sound, and I take the free second to cough up phlegm—that must come from a cold I've felt coming for a day or two—and blood, taking huge breaths in between.

"Give up, Clove," I spit out, and then grab my bow, yanking out the bloody arrow in her stomach. She takes a knife. And at the same time, we let our weapons fly, but I dodge hers, losing my foothold in the meantime.

I grab a branch as her cannon sounds and trumpets blare.

Confusion sets in. Cato hasn't died. I haven't died. I furrow my brow as a ladder appears next to my place on the tree. I don't question it. I grab onto its rungs as the voice or Claudius Templesmith calls throughout the big, empty arena, "Congratulations to the victors of the Seventy-forth Annual Hunger Games: Katniss Everdeen and Cato Allens!"

Then the ladder is lifted. Relief, the sense of how _fast_ that went, and drowsiness all fill me up until I'm inside the hovercraft, watching as people in white outfits take Cato on a gurney to some room, saying things like "Stat," "Hurry!" "Is the girl watching?" "Knock her out if she doesn't go soon," and "Would you like something, honey? Are you alright?"

Finally my eyelids get heavier…heavier…heavier…until eventually they're closed and all the annoying and frightening sounds stop. I utter one last sentence, barely conscious, almost unaware and completely not in control of saying it as it belches out of my mouth: "Save him."

…

The next time I wake up, I'm in a white room. Restraints of some sort hold me down. No, they're not restraints; they're tubes. Or something. They connect to me body, pump morphling into me. I can feel the morphling taking me to some dark bliss world where I feel nothing and everything bubbled into one gray wasteland of thoughts.

The emptiness pushed me back under.

...

I wake up again, still restrained. But the morphling land of despair is at bay and is less present. Mainly it just makes me long for the obliviousness, but that I can oversee. I try to lift my head up to look around, but I can't. I frown, trying to at least twist my head, but all that does is cause agonizing pain, so I allow myself to fall back under.

…

It goes on for days. I wake up, then fall back. I wake up, then fall back. It's a tedious cycle of repetition, making me literally scream out in frustration, and that always brings me back under to the deep, dark, seemingly underworld-like dreams of dreamlessness. Every day I feel like I'm going more and more insane, but as soon as the rage and insanity creeps up, I creep under again.

Eventually, stuff changes every time. Less and less restraints are on me each time. I can stay awake longer before being pulled back under. I can actually feel and comprehend the sudden large quantity of morphling rushing into my veins and suffocating my consciousness until it dies and I meet my friend called Nothingness who lives in a town called Unconsciousness.

…

One day, an Avox comes. The _redhead_ Avox, to be specific.

Questions overwhelm me. "What's going on with Cato? Is he dead? Was he dead? Did they reincarnate him again? What _happened?_ Is he okay?"

The Avox shakes her head, and then holds up one finger, mouthing the word "one."

"One question?" She nods. "Okay," I say. "Is he alive?"

She nods.

"And okay?"

Another nod.

…

One day, I can finally get up. It's the same white room, same dull dresser, and the same thing for lunch. But there are no restraints, no wires connected to me, no machines full of morphling and other medicines dripping into me, so I sit up, slowly, ever-so-slowly, afraid my privilege of getting up and staying awake will be taken away.

I shovel down the boring potatoes and the piece of chicken, gulp down the orange juice, and finally I rush over to the brown dresser on the other side of the room.

I throw off the hospital gown and dress in clothes in the dresser, ones like what was worn in the arena. I want to rip the clothes off and shred them, and then burn them in a fire, but I hold my cool, ready to see anyone. Haymitch, Effie, Cinna. Hell, I'd see and spend an hour just talking to Venia, Flavius, and Octavia if it meant seeing people other than the Avox girl. Someone I can converse with.

I turn the knob on the door, and then ease out of it.

Three faces meet me. Cinna. Effie. Haymitch.

And the first person I fling myself at is Haymitch Abernathy. Maybe because he's been here before. Maybe he's been in that exact room, lying down as they worked on his scars. I've known for days that my skin where wounds had been was getting silkier and smoother and more pristine every day. He's felt the same thing happen.

Maybe that's why I threw myself at the idiot of a sarcastic drunkard instead of my beloved stylist.

"Nice job, sweetheart," he says, and for once, his little nickname for me doesn't rub on me the wrong way.

I pull away fro him after he pats me on the back. Immediately, Effie pulls me into a loose hug with a loud, obnoxious, "Congratulations, girl on fire! You're a star, darling! No one can think of a thing to talk about but _you!_"

I smile pathetically. "Thanks, Effie."

Next is Cinna. We just kind of…meet in a hug, like a daughter and her father after something…horrible has happened.

Kind of like the way it should have been between me and my father, maybe.

"Congrats, girl on fire," Cinna whispers in my ear. I smile as we separate.

"Thank you," I whisper back and then turn to the frantic Effie as she yells, telling Cinna to get me prepared.

"Come, come, come, and get the victor, here, ready, _Cinna!_ No time for dilly-dally!" Effie says loudly, and I can't help but admire her punctuality. I missed her psychotic little quotes and her annoyingness. "Let's go, go, go! The interview is _tonight!_ Oh, I wonder what they're doing with the boy…"

Haymitch shoots her a sidelong glare. I look to Cinna, not expecting thorough answers from the ditz or the drunk. Cinna shakes his head, tells me it's not time yet, and I really want to scream. They're not close to Cato. They need to tell me what's going on with him, tell me what to expect. Otherwise, I'm going to get worked-up and antsy, and my interviews will be awful. Hmm, maybe that argument will break Effie.

"What's going on with Cato?" I ask aloud. "He made it, right?"

"Hrm. I wonder how close they'd have gotten had they had more time in the arena," Effie hypothesizes, as if we're her specimen and she's a scientist running a test on coal and its long-lasting ability to keep a fire going.

"We're…not…specimen," I burst slowly, calmly.

Effie gives me an odd look, but then she shrugs.

No matter what, remnants from the arena are _always_ going to be bugging me. I _have _to know what's going on with Cato.

But for now, I have to keep my cool. Everyone might think we were meant to be right now. Their insane hypotheses must be running rampant. Though we're not forbidden to hate like I thought, we're sure, and forever will be, forbidden to love.

And then Haymitch and Effie depart. It's just me and Cinna, walking down the hall, trekking towards my new fate.

Time for me to turn the page.

**A/N: Ha-ha! I lied! IT'S THE LAST CHAPTER OF THIS FANFIC! Can't wait for the sequel!**

**Till the ficuel, **

**Wjjmwmsn5**


	19. Chapter 19: Preview: 'The Mines'

**So. This is a little excerpt from the sequel so my lovely guest reviewers can find my story with this link: ** h- -t- -t- -p:/- -w- -w- w . fanfi- -ction.n- -et/s/8545- -497/1/So-We-Shall-Fall -REMOVE THE SPACES and the dashes, but not the dashes between the title and all**  
**

**Yeah. I chose So We Shall Fall. It really fit for what we've got in store. Anyway, the excerpt-like thing:**

* * *

We silently walk over to the dead deer. Gale skins it and guts it as I hunt for rabbits or squirrels. It's just like we'd known before: bad hunting ground. Except, now it's also the place where we got one of the one or two deer we've managed in our lifetimes hunting together. As I finally give up, Gale calls for me. I hurry over to him and he pats the seat next to his on the flower-covered earth.

"This ought to be enough meat. We should take a break. It's been a while," Gale says as he continues to gut the animal. Then he starts to cut it apart by its limbs.

"What're you doing?" I say pointedly. "Don't do that!"

Gale lifts his eyes, raising his eyebrows. "I almost got caught, you know. I was taking a rabbit outside of the bag and some new, big-shot Peacekeeper almost saw me. I hid behind old Cray's house and he caught me pantin' in the window. I rose up the rabbit and he bought the whole thing for a bottle of liquor that I gave to Ripper. Gave me shoestring.

"Anyway, we can't just lug a deer 'round the district. We've got to cut it up, put it in the bag. Come bag for what's left of what couldn't fit another time." Gale shakes his head.

"I knew I should've brought my bag," I say. "I was in a rush."

"Like you always are," Gale says.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snap.

"Nothing."

"Really, Gale."

"Nothing."

I sigh and then we decide to head back. On the way home, it's silent at first, but then we start joking and talking. We bump into each other purposely and shoot at our target practice tree. Gale yanks out the arrows in the tree when we're done and divides them between us. I get four. He gets three. Then we start off again, laughing not a second after we've started moving again. Like it's the day after the reaping, just after school, as we're hunting for our supper.

"You're keeping it all, right?" I say to him. "I don't need any."

Suddenly Gale's smiling face—a rare sight to see, one that can only be seen around me and sometimes his family, just like it is with me, as I only smile with him and sometimes my family—turns to a scowl. "I don't need handouts, Catnip," he says hardly. His voice is crackly and icy.

"I know." I furrow my brow. "I have more money than what I know what to do with. You can have the deer and the stupid bird."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just not used to this—leaving without splittin' it all, you know."

"I know."

"You remember how I had something to say in the Justice Building, but we ran out of time?" Gale asks. We deposit our weapons.

"Vaguely. It seems decades ago, Gale." I shrug absently, thinking about the Peacekeepers yanking Gale out of the building as he struggled to get back to me to take me into the woods and keep me safe forever.

"I wanted to tell you—"

We reach the fence, and outside it is my mother, her face pale.

"Mom?" I ask. Seeing no one's around, I slip out of the fence, and Gale follows from close behind. Terror lies in my mother's eyes, making me very concerned. What could have gone wrong? Is Cato dead? Am I in trouble? Did Haymitch do something stupid? Did something happen to Cinna, maybe?

"The mines," she breathes.

* * *

**So, check out the sequel to found out what's so awful about the mines and to see the gag-provoking potential Galeniss scene!**

**I HATE GALENISS, LET IT BE KNOWN.  
**


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